#not even sure if he even knows this witch craft called cooking

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

Akai is going to be the death of him.

This has been a long-time conviction of Rei's, and yet of all the ways that could go, this really is not how he pictured it.

Leading contender for cause of death: irregular blood flow, leaving him without the oxygen necessary for higher brain functions.

Where has it gone? Mostly to his cheeks. And the tips of his ears. They're burning.

(And some of it may have gone further south, pooling warmly in his stomach).

Akai's wearing the sweater Rei made and it's so oversized he's got cute little sweater paws covering his hands. Rei would like to faint now, please. Please. Please?

He closes his eyes in hopes this is all just a hallucination caused by lack of sleep (ignoring the fact Akai just woke him up, actually feeling well-rested for once). But when he opens them again, Akai's still there, eyebrow raised. Lit in the warm colours of a new dawn, and covered in a sweater Rei knows is incredibly soft, because he picked the wool himself. Holding a steaming cup of something.

Hm. It smells like sencha.

Temptation itself, in the morning cool.

Rei curses, resigns himself to the new reality he gets to enjoy now. Okiya Subaru is one thing, the identity deliberately crafted to be harmless and cozy, but Akai Shuichi should not be looking this adorable. Maybe Rei did suffer that concussion, after all.

.

There's some overlap in their watch cycle, so Rei busies himself trying to get the excess energy out and make breakfast. He's definitely not ignoring Akai. Which would be difficult anyways in the one room apartment they're using to lay low.

It's going to be bland, even with his best efforts. There's barely any spices in stock, just lots and lots of dried and pickled foods, stuff that keeps. Not that Rei's expected anything more from Akai - okay, maybe a little, considering he's trying (and failing) to learn how to cook. Then again, he probably didn't figure he'd actually have to use the safehouse, and they've had worse. That weekend in Rikubetsu comes to mind. It still sends shivers down his spine.

Besides, the food isn't actually the problem - though they'll need to be conservative with it. No, the real issue is the shitty insulation. And terrible heating. Rei shivers in his sweater and huddles closer to the stove. It's not like they can call a HVAC repairman without drawing attention to themselves. Who thought it was a good idea to do this sting in the winter?

Whatever. They'll only need to stay here for a couple of days, until their allies have finished the witch-hunt, and then they can leave this safehouse behind them.

.

An uneventful breakfast and several hours later it's Akai's turn to sleep. He's mostly been sitting quiet and unobtrusive in the corner chair, keeping an eye on the street below. Rei knows the look, has seen it many times. Mostly on Rye, back in Osaka. Perching on the place with the best view, making as little noise and movement as possible. Coiled up and ready to bolt. The apartment isn't safe, and the mission isn't over. Akai won't rest, not really, until the all-clear. Idiot. As if he's not injured, doesn't need to recover.

"Akai. Your turn." He tries, and is roundly ignored. Akai must've heard him - there's nothing to listen to, in here. If he's somewhere else, mentally, well. Rei's never been good at quitting. Or alright with being denied attention.

"Akai." When the sniper still doesn't react, Rei walks up to him. Grabs a hold of his chin, tipping it up, forcing the other to look up at him. There's no resistance; either Akai is too tired to object, or he actively allows the touch. Rei's not sure which is worse. He feels Akai flinch as he straightens - must be the strain on his injured ribs. The sniper stares up at him, jade eyes dull and lifeless. The shadows under his eyes are deep enough to blot out the sun. Where's his stupid mirth, the barely concealed amusement? This won't do.

"Go lie down. Even if you can't sleep, your body still needs the rest. You're useless like this." How long has it been since he last slept?

"I can still-" Akai starts to object, eyes flicking to the window, to the street below.

"No. I've got this." Akai's so close, and so painfully tense, and Rei really doesn't know how to get his message through Akai's thick skull. So he tries for the closest approximation. He leans down that last little bit, until their noses touch, their foreheads rest together. Akai's skin burns against his own. "Rest." A single word, too gentle to be a command, but Akai still obeys. Long, soft lashes flutter against Rei's cheek, feather-light, as green eyes slip shut. The ghost of a sigh brushes against his lips. The pressure against him increases as Shuichi loosens into his touch.

Rei allows himself to indulge in the warmth of their shared space for a few shared breaths. It shouldn't be this hard to pull away. "Not here, idiot. The bed."

It's unclear whether Akai actually needs the help, or if he just likes to force Rei to do extra work, but he finds himself supporting the sniper to the bed. Helps lower Akai to the mattress as he settles in, careful not to aggravate his wounds. Cocoons him in the blanket. And if he's being a little too considerate, well, Akai looks about ready to pass out, so it's likely he won't notice or remember.

.

Rei finds himself checking in every once in a while, making sure Akai's still breathing. The man can be eerily quiet when he wants, and in slumber he almost seems dead. The first couple of times Rei saw him asleep, he found it disconcerting. By now, he knows how to spot Akai's signs of life, the faint rise and fall of his chest.

Of all the things that happened in the last 48 hours, Rei's mind returns to the most harmless offense - Akai in a too-large sweater.

How could that happen? He knows Akai's features by heart, by touch and measurement, and he's pretty sure he's counted out the rows and numbers correctly. Okay, fine, he might have picked out the design and worked on it in a hazy fugue state, but that is only slightly worse than his usual operating conditions. The result shouldn't be such a disaster. Maybe elder Tsuruyama will know where he went wrong.

(Because he did go wrong. No amount of stupid, heady pride at seeing Akai wear what Rei made for him with his own two hands can dissuade him from that. Rei tries to shove down the satisfaction spreading warmth throughout his body, right down to his toes. But the feeling has been building for weeks now, and is getting harder to ignore each day. Rei pretends he doesn't see the signs, doesn't know what they mean. They can't afford the distraction.)

Thankfully, his musings are interrupted by a sharp intake of breath, followed by a series of shallow gasps. He scans the room, wondering if Akai's noticed something he missed, when, with a quiet thud, the thick blanket slides to the floor. Akai's twisting and turning on the bed. Oh, great, the genius wants to agitate his wounds and freeze in one go.

Rei abandons his watch uneasily. But it's the middle of the day, and anyone coming after them right now would have to be stupidly brazen. Besides, he'd probably not notice attackers anyways. Akai's panting and thrashing is way too distracting.

Night (well, day in this case) terrors are not unusual for people in their profession, and if they are a regular issue for Akai, that might explain his general reluctance to get to bed, as well as the permanent bags under his eyes. But at this rate, Rei will need to intervene, or Akai will further injure himself.

"Don't go inside-" Akai's words, low and sharp, stop Rei dead in his tracks. Oh. They should've done a debrief before heading to bed. He's willing to bet he can guess pretty accurately what holds Akai in its grasp. It takes him a deep breath and a conscious effort of will to shake off the image of the abandoned factory, the smell of dust and mildew. The echo of a gunshot.

"Akai?" Rei continues his slow approach, gentle, non-threatening. Though Akai's eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling, Rei doubts he can see him.

"At least wait for backup-", Akai pleads, unsteady. He's reaching out, grabbing at empty air. Grinding his teeth in agitation.

Alright. What did Hiro say? Considering Akai's taller, and loathe as Rei is to admit it, a better fighter, trying to wake him is most certainly a bad idea. Even if he weren't stronger, there's a gun on the bedside table, and Rei's not keen to learn what Akai's instincts look like if he wakes up disoriented and with too much adrenaline in his system.

So. Soothing might or might not be possible, but he has to try. "Akai. Shhh, it's all right. You got to me in time. We made it out. I'm here. I'm safe."

'Because you took a bullet for me', he doesn't say. Bulletproof vest or not, Akai's carrying the reminder of his actions on his chest, in cracked ribs, tender skin, and colourful bruises. It's grating to be in his debt, yet again. The first time might have been accidental, more about Scotch than Bourbon, but there's no doubt that this time, it was all about Rei. Who has the sickening suspicion Akai would've acted no differently, had he not been wearing body armour.

It makes no sense why he would go this far. There's people waiting for him - his siblings, his coworkers, the Kudos. Besides, he's the Silver Bullet, meant to take down the organisation. And here he is, throwing it all away for nothing. Who really cares whether Rei survives? He's long resigned himself to the fact he might not.

Hiro comes to mind, and Rei immediately rejects the notion. Maybe it's uncharitable. Things surely were difficult for Hiro, but the longer Rei has to think about it, the less he can forgive him. If he truly had cared about Rei, he would've found a way to let him know he made it. It's been three years, after all, easily enough time to settle into his cover. It shouldn't have fallen to Akai, perceived threat and even enemy at the time, to bring this revelation.

Rei's glad Hiro is safe, make no mistake. But there's years of grief and guilt between them, the loneliness growing roots so deep it's isolated him from the one person that mattered the most. The betrayal of the trust he thought they shared stings every time he thinks about his best friend. If he can even be called that, these days.

Akai thrashes, and Rei barely manages to grab a hold of his arm before he's decked in the face. Stupid. Here he is, getting lost in his own issues, while the other agent needs his support. He owes him that much, if not more.

Making sure he keeps Akai's arms in view, Rei puts the gun into the bedside table's drawer to avoid any accidents. He sits himself down at the corner of the bed, next to the agent's head. The stupid knit cap has slid off, revealing sweat-slick curls of dark hair. Rye's hair used to be so fine, smoothed out by its length, obviously well taken care of. The texture now, as Rei cards his fingers through steadily, is wet and oily - Akai should wash it tomorrow. With all that sweat, he'll need to shower anyways, though the motion might be straining his injuries. It might be good to offer to help - with the hair, that is.

"Not you too, not so soon-" Akai still seems agitated, but the repetitive stroking of his hair grounds them both, little by little. At least he's not kicking out anymore. "Akai, listen. You're not getting rid of me that easily, all right? And they're not getting you, either. You're here, with me, safe and sound. We're both here." And freezing, he notices. Akai's shivering beneath him, seeking his touch, his warmth. Rei feels like an idiot. He really should've grabbed the blanket first. Then again, Akai probably would've just shaken it off again. He'll fetch it when Akai's calmed down a bit more.

He scooches closer. Rubs circles into Akai's shoulder and upper arm, trying to create warmth through friction. Running his hand along, he's glad to feel the mohair he picked is as soft as he had hoped.

"No, please, Rei-" A stupid slip-up, inappropriate not just because it happened in front of the enemy. And yet the PSB agent can't bring himself to be too mad about it. It's not like Aperol lived to tell the tale. Rei had taken the shot in the window of opportunity Akai had bought him, and, well. He might have cared more about dispatching Aperol quickly so he could focus on a downed Akai. He's already mourned Akai once before; he'd rather not do so again, in the foreseeable future.

"Shhh. I'm with you." He squeezes Akai's shoulders, trying to make sure the other knows. He shouldn't indulge like this. Can't encourage Akai's behaviour. But duty demanded he go into that warehouse, and he's really not sure he would've walked back out without Akai.

Either Bourbon's cover is blown, or Rum has decided it's time to clean house and deal with loose ends. Whatever the case may be, killing Aperol will have burnt any goodwill he might have had, if it existed at all. He can't go back.

Except, it hits him: it doesn't matter. If the Kudos' plan worked, there's no place to go back to. He's survived Gin's distrust and Vermouth's games. Rum's relentless chase. He's still standing. Because of skill and luck and the allies Edogawa Conan has collected. Five long years undercover. They're finally over. He doesn't believe in miracles, but this comes pretty damn close.

Of course the job is not over, not by a long shot. There's stragglers to round up, witnesses to interrogate, statements to give. Evidence to submit and analyse. Going up against the Karasuma corporation means their case needs to be airtight, or they'll wiggle out of it with good attorneys. In all likelihood, everyone involved in this operation will need to sleep with one eye open for the rest of their lives.

But the fact remains that it looks like there will be a future, after all.

And it doesn't look terribly bleak.

Three years ago, he'd thought his world had ended. But he'd kept going, hanging on for duty - and the need to corner Akai for answers.

It just might have been worth it.

For late-night talks, shared cigarettes and stolen sweaters. For this beautiful, brave, reckless idiot, lost in fitful sleep beside him. For the hope of a better future, forgotten and rekindled.

He can't bring himself to say it, not even when Akai's asleep in his arms, unpleasant memories barely kept. But he knows it all the same.

'Thank you for keeping me alive to see this day.'

.

Sweater weather AU masterpost

[shallyne]

Feysand Week Day 6: Mates

Accidentally in Love

Day six! Based in one of my Feysand AU posts. @officialfeysandweek2023 please ignore inconsistencies and just vibe OK thx love y'all

Words: 3,056

TW: none

Feyre likes her life as a witch. She's living in a cute cottage and makes potions, her best friend is visiting her all the time. But one day, her friend accidentally sips from her love potion and Feyre has to keep an eye on him

It was a sunny spring day, there was a slight breeze of wind fluttering through the windows, ruffling Feyre's hair as she happily added the last ingredient to her love potion. It had taken her quite some time to find the berries, especially at this time of year but there was also a big demand for Feyre's infamous love potion. It also satisfied her to no end that the potion ended up being pink, it attracted buyers.

Feyre remembered when she was small, it was frowned upon in her village to ask for payment in return for her gifts but why shouldn't she? A farmer took payment, so did carpenters, cobblers, blacksmiths, seamstresses and clothiers. Everyone took payment for their work. Feyre had to make a living somehow. She was born as a witch so she would damn well use that, it would be stupid otherwise. She had left her town shortly after she reached her majority, never looked back and never once missed her village since then. She now lived in a forest on the outskirts of a town called Velaris. That place was enchanting in itself, the atmosphere was incredible and Feyre finally had the feeling of arriving at home. Although she didn't like wandering into the city. The people were nice but the crowds could get overwhelming for her.

She stirred her potion one more time before she rested the wooden spoon on the pot's handle and checked her recipe. Feyre was sure that she made everything right but she just made sure. As she did, there was one knock on her door and then her best friend walked into her cottage as if he owned the space. "There you are!" Rhys exclaimed, "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Feyre snorted, her eyes still trained on her cookbook. It was a book she had written herself, potions she had crafted herself carefully over the years. "What do you mean everywhere? I must say, I'm disappointed, Rhysand. You, as my best friend, should know me better. If you are looking for me, you know my home is the first place to look."

He huffed amused, his steps nearing until he stood right beside her, "For how many people are you cooking? Were you awaiting me?" and before she could stop him, he had taken the wooden spoon and downed a whole spoonful of her love potion.

"No!" she said, ripping the spoon out of his hand. "That's - that's a love potion!"

Rhys's eyebrows shot up. A mild reaction for what she just told him. "Since when do you make potions in the morning? You always make them in the evening!"

"Don't blame me for being so stupid to eat something in a witch's cottage without asking!" She countered.

Rhys smiled, "Touché."

He took the wooden spoon again, that Feyre was close to breaking in her steel grip, and put it on the counter. She sighed, "You're right, I usually make my potions in the evenings but my love potions are so high on demand that I had to track down the ingredients and make them in an instant." she sighed and looked at Rhys, "Do you feel something?"

He went rigid, his eyes slightly widening but shook his head. "I feel the same."

Feyre smiled at him, not feeling the smile at all, and lied, "It wasn't really cooking yet, it probably didn't work." she sighed. "Are you going back to the city?"

"I wanted to spend time with you," he said, "But I'll plan to get back sometime today."

Feyre got her satchel and packed two love potions and a healing potion that she made earlier, "I have a customer in Velaris and I'd like to visit Mor. Will you accompany me?" Feyre threw over her cape. Rhys stepped forward and helped her with the clasp. Their eyes met when she looked up, his eyes twinkling with unconditional affection. "It would be an honor, Feyre darling."

If Feyre wouldn't have known that this is how they always interact, she would have thought it was the love potion speaking. It wasn't, he is his usual self. They are best friends, nothing more.

They kept eye contact for a few more moments until Feyre averted her eyes and walked to the door. "Well then, come. I don't have the whole day."

"Why are you in such a rush?" Rhys asked. "Are you in some shadowy business? If you don't deliver the potions at the agreed time, will you be hunted down by an assassin? Will you have to change your name and vanish?" he chuckled.

When he caught up to her, Feyre pushed him, which made him laugh harder. He kept joking around as they followed the path to Velaris and by the time they reached the city, Feyre's stomach hurt from laughing.

They reached a narrow house in the palace of hoof and leaf, on the ground level was a little shop and the two upper levels were living quarters. The exchange went quickly and smoothly, especially after they stopped eyeing Rhys. Either it was his beauty or the surprise that the High Lord had accompanied her, maybe both. She didn't care.

They slowly walked to the other side of the Sidra, nearing Rhys's townhouse in comfortable silence. Some of the people greeted Rhys, some waved. They didn't pay much attention to Feyre, which didn't bother her. She drank in the city around, the mountains that surrounded the city, the flat-topped mountains of red stone, where Feyre was sure she saw windows built inside. That must be the House of Wind Rhys and Mor told her about. When they crossed the bridge, Feyre marveled at the sapphire water of the Sidra and the little ships she could see in the distance. Feyre also marveled at the white marble, sandstone and red stone buildings all throughout the city, the restaurants where many different, delicious smells drifted over. Feyre couldn't believe she was so rarely here, and when she was, she hadn't paid attention to much. It was unlike her to not pay attention but the thought of getting overwhelmed held her back but now, with Rhysand at her side, she felt safe enough to do so. Maybe someday she'd ask him to show her the Rainbow. Maybe someday she'd paint again.

Rhys opened a wrought iron gate, leading up to a townhouse. She knew that Rhys wasn't living in a castle like other High Lords, the simplicity of it all still surprised her.

"Make yourself comfortable, I'll get Mor." he told her when they stood in the foyer. Feyre looked around as he took the stairs, two steps at the time. Two paintings she painted a hundred years ago hung in the wood-paneled walls. She hadn't painted since she left the spring court, breaking off her engagement with the High Lord of spring and looking for refuge in the night court. She hadn't taken much, but she took three paintings and gifted them to Rhys as a thank you for taking her in. She couldn't see the third anywhere. Maybe he didn't like it and threw it away.

A few minutes went by and she could hear Rhys and Mor whispering upstairs, she couldn't make out what they were saying, though.

"Feyre!" a familiar voice squeaked behind her. She whirled around, looking at the blonde stop the stairs, who vanished into black smoke and then reappeared before Feyre, barreling into her.

"Mor!" Feyre said excitedly, wrapping her arms around her friend. "I missed you so much!"

"These last few weeks were crazy busy, I'm sorry I couldn't visit you." she put her hands on Feyre's shoulder and looked at her face. "Come with me, we have so much to catch up on! I also have an important question for you." she told Feyre as she pulled her to the double doors leading into the garden. They sat down on a little table, Mor smiling brightly at her. Mor's hair was put up in a ponytail, her clothes simple. Wide pants and a thin, blue sweater.

"What's your question?" Feyre asked curiously, pulling off her cape.

"Okay, I have a friend who…it's exciting, actually, he found his mate!" Mor said, her smile spreading wider, a smile so bright that Feyre couldn't but smile, too. Mates were rare, so this was amazing. "Although, he doesn't know if she's into him, either. And he asked me about you, about your love potion, to be exact."

Feyre nodded to signal her to keep going.

"If they would take a love potion, would it change anything about their bond? He doesn't want to ruin any chance of them getting together but having a bond is an unusual situation."

Feyre thought about it for a moment, her head resting on her hand. She shook her head, "The potion shouldn't change anything about their bond. It was created to mimic a mating bond but a real bond is always stronger than a potion. No potion in this world override or take away a bond like this. He should be careful though, no matter who takes the potion, there shouldn't be any other person around. The potion works for the first person you see after you take that potion and if there is a real bond in play, it could potentially get dangerous for every person involved."

Mor's eyes went wide, "How so?"

"The "fake" bond is strong in itself, you feel extremely protective and obsessive over your mate, especially in this initial period. If you found your mate, you usually want to claim them and these feelings are even stronger in a real bond. So if there is a third party who wants to claim someone's mate…" Feyre drifted off but Mor nodded knowingly. If everything went to shit, it could end in death.

It was quiet between them for a few minutes until Mor's face lit up again, "What about you? What's been going on in your life?"

Feyre looked back to the door, making sure Rhys wouldn't hear. Mor looked confused, so Feyre told her, "Rhys accidentally took my love potion." Mor sat up surprised and Feyre fell into an explanation about what happened not even two hours ago.

"Wow." Mor said. "So he'll fall in love with you now?" something twinkled in her eyes that Feyre chose to ignore. She held her cup of tea that Cerridwen brought out while Feyre explained the situation to Mor. "That's it, he doesn't act any different than usual! I was watching him the whole time, he's normal. Normal Rhys. But it can't be my potion. My potion works. So why didn't it work on Rhys?"

Mor took a sip of her tea, shrugging. "Are you sure he's not any different?"

"No! Absolutely not. The very same." Feyre said, frustrated. There was something she didn't see, but what? When she expressed this to Mor, she only smiled. Irritating Feyre even more.

"You should stay the next few days, to keep a watch on my cousin. You can have my room, it's directly beside Rhys's. I'll take Azriel’s in the meantime, he's sleeping at the House of Wind." Mor nodded satisfied at her suggestion.

"I think you're right!" Feyre said, "I should keep an eye on him."

And that's what they did. Feyre was there for a week, spending time with Rhys, Mor and Cassian.

On day one, Rhys and Feyre went back to her cottage to put her love potions in little vials to store them and take them back to Velaris.

On day two, Feyre and Mor lounged on the House of Wind, where Rhys had flown Feyre. They sunbathed and watched the boys during training. She had pushed all her thoughts away that sneaked in, focusing on Rhys's behavior.

On day three they went to a restaurant, Sevendas. Feyre and Cassian had talked for a while on their way there, until Rhys interjected with his own opinions and squeezed between Feyre and Cassian.

On day four, Rhys and Feyre were pretty much alone. She hadn't left his side, steadily keeping an eye on his behavior. All the time. Rhys didn't seem to mind, he even invited her to a game of chess. He won the first two rounds, Feyre won the third.

On day five, Rhys had to go to Windhaven but when he arrived at the townhouse late in the evening, they sat on the rooftop together and watched the stars. His behavior was still the same.

On day six, Feyre tried to make herself Omelette. It only half burned, which was victory enough. When she offered Rhys the half that wasn't burned, he evaded her, panic written in his eyes. Feyre scoffed when he was gone. She wasn't that bad of a cook.

On day seven, Mor dragged Feyre shopping. Feyre tried to deny her offer but she insisted, telling Feyre she had to get out of the house for a day. Feyre could only think about Rhys, what if his behavior changes that day when she wasn't there?

It didn't.

When day eight arrived, there was a change. Not in Rhys, but in Feyre. They all went to Rita's, Feyre sat in the booth nursing her drink while Cassian and Mor vanished on the dancefloor somewhere. Rhys was at the bar, talking to a stunning female. A weird seizing in her chest made it hard to breathe as the pounding in her ear got louder and louder. When Rhys leaned forward, Feyre's grip on her glass was so strong she Feared it would break. Abruptly standing up, she almost lost balance in the high heels that Mor had lent her. She pulled down the sparkling, black mini dress and walked over to Rhys. She felt the eyes of a few other patrons on her but she didn't care. "Rhys," she said, her voice straining. He turned to her, eyebrows raised in question. Feyre ignored the other female. "We need to talk." she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a big metal door. They ended up in a dark side street, only one lamp above the door lighting a small spot up.

"What is it?" he asked.

Feyre stepped back, getting a little distance between them. She loosened her fist and balled them again, over and over, not sure what to say.

"Feyre?"

She looked at him, in his mesmerizing, violet eyes. What would she tell him? She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

"Why did you pull me away?" Rhys asked. It didn't sound like a question. No, it did, but it didn't sound like he wanted the answer. It sounded more like a question she should ask herself.

He stepped closer. Breathing became harder.

"Were you jealous, Feyre?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, a lock of his raven hair falling in his face. Feyre looked away from his face, letting her eyes wander down. He was wearing a black button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, showing his powerful muscled forearms. Was she even breathing anymore?

"No." she looked up again, Rhys was so close.

"Alright," he said, his eyes still trained on her. "So it won't bother you of I get back inside now, picking up the delightful conversation I just head with that lovely-"

"No!" she spit out, grabbing his arms.

"Why?"

"You're mine!" she said. Yelled. Whispered. She didn't know but they both heard, the word echoing between them. Mine. Mine. Mine. But there was another whisper, getting louder with every heartbeat. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Rhys's nostrils flared, as if he could hear it, too. Feyre's eyes went wide, checking her mental shield that he taught her to keep up when she came here. They weren't up, he heard every single thought. Feyre could have screamed them down the bond as well, it wouldn't make a difference. Bond. Bond? The mating bond.

"The– the mating bond." Feyre said. "That's why my potion didn't work."

"No," Rhys said, surprising Feyre. "The potion didn't work because I was already deeply, irrevocably in love with you." Feyre's breath hitched. "I have been since I found you at the night court border, asking for refuge. Since I saw you, hungry and frozen and still having so much fight in you."

"Did you know about the mating bond?"

He leaned against the door, sighing, "Only later. Remember when I showed you the cottage? You were so excited, telling me it's perfect. Already planning how to pay me back,"

Feyre smiled, "You told me it's a gift from a friend."

Rhys chuckled, "I did. When you were all settled in, I left but I turned around one more time to look at you. I saw you skimming through a notebook, smiling. You looked so content, happy. That's when the bond snapped. You just started to heal from your time in the spring court, I couldn't burden you with this. Then, as you healed, we became closer and the thought that you could reject me felt like someone stabbed me in the heart, so I settled to be your best friend. I couldn't risk this Feyre. I couldn't risk you." his eyes were silver lined when he met hers. "I love you but– but I understand if you don't love me back. If you don't want this bond. I can live with it–"

"Oh Rhysand, shut up!" Feyre said, wiping a tear away. "I love you, too, you idiot! More than anything in this whole, damned world." she hiccuped, "I'd be honored to be your mate, Rhys."

Something snapped inside Rhys as he jumped forward and tugged her close. One arm wrapped around her waist, one hand held her head in place and crashed his mouth into hers. It was explosions, it was fireworks, it was like the last puzzle piece sliding into place. Feyre wrapped her arms around his neck, keeping him close, melting into his touch.

She pulled back, just a bit, for a moment to ask him, "Would you show me the Rainbow?"

"I'd show you the whole world if you'd want that," he said out of breath.

Feyre giggled, "The Rainbow does it for now."

Rhys smiled and Feyre kissed him again, not letting him go. He was hers and she was his. The beginning and end.

Them.

Finally.

Feysand Taglist:

@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @edgyellie @starfall-spirit @rhysiedarling @corcracrow @sydney-fae25 @tothestarsandwhateverend @aayo-whatt @dreamlandreader

[daydreamingnightscreaming]

October Prompt #2 - Apple Scent

I can't breathe, I tried inhaling but my mouth felt dry as if feathers were shoved in my throat.

What is going on?

I opened my eyes and honestly, to no surprise, it wasn't feathers, but the thick black coat of my cat. I moved my face and gasped for hair.

"Girl, one day I won't wake up and it'll be your fault. Nobody will feed you then"

Mew.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on." I sat up, rubbing my eyes. Blurry vision I looked at the clock. 8:56am. These mornings were ideal. No alarm, no kids yelling, the sun being the only light in the house, it was peaceful. Minus being suffocated, but I digress.

While Bruja swirled between my legs, we made our way to the kitchen. While the coffee was brewing I started on Bruja's breakfast. Of course she had to sing to me the entire time to make sure I didn't forget she was there. By the time she was eating, I had finished making my morning cup and that's when it hit me. It's October 1st. The witching month, the time where the veil is so thin I could reach my hand through it, the time where I get to bake all day, every day, and have no on to stop me, where I can craft as much as I want.

"Bruja!" she jumped but continued eating, knowing I'm just going to go on a rant. "We're already behind! Let's start the morning of with a simmer pot!" I looked around and realized, I haven't picked anything for a simmer pot. What kind of witch was i? Setting my mug down, I half ran to the back door. The air was crisp and cool. Without any care in the world, I shoved my boots on my bare feet and got to work. Oh if the neighbors could see me now. Nothing but boots and an oversized sweater on.

I heard Bruja meow with every step as she ran towards me.

mow mow mow mow mow

"Oh how dare I start without you?" I rolled my eyes as I set the step stool down. "We're doing apple this year, do I hear any complaints?" I looked down to see her just sitting and staring at me.

Silence

"Good!" Filling a large basket with apples, sticks, and leaves, I decided that I would definitely have left over apples for baking. Bruja leading the way, we waddled back into the kitchen and started our large pot to boil over the fire. We were classy, we still used our fireplace to do our cooking. Chopping sounds and hums filled the home. In went the apples, sticks and leaves, don't forget the cinnamon for luck, salt for protections, and cloves for abundance. It took no time at all for the scent to fill the entire home.

"Oh this is just lovely, Bruja!" I sighed

Meww.

"I thought you'd agree." Picking up an apple, I noticed I had a lot left over. With that, we made an apple pie, and even decided this year to sell poisoned apples for those who pay the big bucks. The apple scent was slightly overwhelming but definitely worth it. Once everything was said and done, I wiped my hands and smiled.

"I am so happy with how things were coming along so far!"

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

"Hello? This is she. Oh, now you decide to listen to me about your husband. Girl, I told you he's been cheating on you. Not only did I tell you, but so did the tarot reading. Sorry, the last 6 tarot readings. Mhm, mhm. Okay yeah, well I just made two so far." I fiddled with an apple, "Yes, yes. Come on down, same price. Tomorrow? Okay, you too."

Click.

"Not even an hour has gone by and finally Melissa is coming to pick up a poison apple."

Murrrp.

"I know! We tried telling her!" I exclaimed and took a bite of the apple I was fiddling with, "oh, oh no."

Thud.

Same time tomorrow, Melissa came by. No answer at the door, no answer to her phone calls. Just the yummy scent of apples, flowing through the cracks of doors and windows.

[the-faultofdaedalus]

I had a dream that the king and the queen of a small country had a daughter. They needed a son, a first-born son, so in secret, without telling anyone of their child’s gender, they travelled to the nearby woods that were rumoured to house a witch.

They made a deal with that witch. They wanted a son, and they got one. A son, one made out of clay and wood, flexible enough to grow but sturdy enough to withstand its destined path, enchanted to look like a human child. The witch asked for only one thing, and that was for their daughter.

They left the girl readily.

The witch raised her as her own, and called her Thyme. The princess grew up unknowing of her heritage, grew up calling the witch Mama, and the witch did her very best to earn that title.

She was taught magic, and how to forage in the woods, how to build sturdy wooden structures and how to make the most delicious stews. The girl had a good life, and the witch was pleased.

The girl grew into a woman, and learned more and more powerful magics, grew stronger from hauling wood and stones and animals to cook, grew smarter as the witch taught her more.

She learned to deal with the people in the villages nearby, learned how to brew remedies and medicines and how to treat illness and injury, and learned how to tell when someone was lying. 

Every time the pair went into town, the people would remark at just how similar Thyme was to her mother. 

(Thyme does not know who and what she is. She does not know that she was born a princess, that she was sold. She only knows that one night after her mother read her a story about princesses and dragons, her mother had asked her if she ever wanted to be a princess.)

((Thyme only knows that she very quickly answered no. She likes being a witch, thank you very much, she likes the power that comes with it and the way that she can look at things and know their true nature.))

The witch starts preparing the ritual early, starts collecting the necessities in the winter so they can be ready by the fall equinox. Her daughter helps, and does not ask what this is for, just knows that it is important.

The witch looks at Thyme, both their hands raised into the air over a complicated array of plants, tended carefully to grow into a circle, and says, sorry.

Thyme wakes up in a clearing she recognizes well. Her mother is not there. 

The house she had grown up in is a pile of logs on the ground, destroyed and broken and in disarray, and Thyme is afraid. She calls for her mother, once, twice, and then rolls up her sleeves and begins the trek towards town. 

Her home is not here, she has neither her bow nor her knife, and if she means to figure out what happened she needs supplies. People are always in need of a witch, she knows, and her mother taught her long ago the value of a silver tongue. 

Except.

She walks out of the woods, and the town is... different. Smaller. The mill she knew so fondly, that she used to climb in with the other children of the village, isn’t there. 

There’s no indication it was ever there, and all at once, Thyme realizes what the ritual was for. 

It was a time-spell, and now she is in the past. The house is in ruins because her mother has not repaired it yet, the mill is gone because it has not been built yet. 

She is here, because...

She does not know. 

And now, it is up to her to take care of herself.

She learns the date from the villagers, gets herself a room at the inn and a good hot meal in exchange for looking at the innkeeper’s son, who has been wracked with cough for weeks now, apparently. 

His face is one Thyme knows, one that in her days were covered in wrinkles and laugh-lines, and as she goes back out into the woods to collect the herbs she needs to cure the boy, she thinks.

The boy will take the inn over from his father, and he will always welcome Thyme’s mother in with open arms for saving him when he was a child. Either the story had been wrong, or Thyme has already broken things. 

Thyme does not know which one she fears more.

She waits in the village for a full turn of the moon for her mother to come. She knows that this is when she should have come in to town. She knows that she should show up here, any day. 

The boy’s cough gets better and when it’s gone completely Thyme buys herself a knife at the blacksmith’s and returns to the woods, to the clearing she calls home. Hands on her hips, she surveys the once-cottage, and makes a plan. 

The house takes a long time to build. She buys an axe, makes a bow, and sleeps under the stars while the house is very slowly built back up. Walls, roof, floors, and then a fireplace, big and wide enough to fit a cauldron, built from special bluestone she hauls from a nearby hill one lump at a time, all the better to brew inside. 

Mama, she thinks wryly, you better be grateful for this. 

She hunts for herself, mostly, snares rabbits and shoots down deer, strips them of their skin, treats it and leaves the fur out to dry. They’ll be good blankets, a good winter cloak, someday. She knows what plants she can eat, what plants will be good, and she survives. She builds. 

She does not tell the villagers her name, and they know her only as “the witch.” 

Thyme eventually stops waiting for her mother. She watches herself in the mirror, and aches at how much they look the same. How much she’s turning out like her mother. 

She helps the villagers, occasionally travels further to heal illnesses in other villages, but mostly stays to herself, in the woods, collecting books and herbs and the house grows more and more as she remembers it. Her hair, that used to be so dark, raven’s hair, her mother would say, braiding it back for her before she learned to do it herself, gets shot through with white and goes grey. 

There’s wrinkles on her face that didn’t used to be there. 

Thyme stops waiting, and becomes the witch of the these woods.

And then. 

The King and Queen of these lands show up at her door, and they are holding a baby girl. 

Please, they say, We need a son. Give us a son. 

And Thyme, who now has a scar on her cheek from a branch whipping at her too fast to avoid, who knows that her mother had had the same scar, looks at the baby, meets her eyes, and knows that they are her eyes. 

I’ll give you a son, Thyme tells them, as if through a trance, but the cost will be your daughter.

They agree, as she knew they would, and she makes a boy out of clay and wood and she remembers learning how to make constructs like these with her mother, she breaths life into it and sends it off with the King and Queen and she holds their baby in her arms. 

Black hair. Dark eyes. A quiet baby, who looks up at her with a solemness that Thyme’s not entirely sure babies are supposed to have. 

Hello, little one, Thyme says, holds out her finger for the baby to grasp, feels her voice crack down the centre like a burnt-out log when the infant holds her finger in her chubby little hand. 

She’s a princess. This baby is a princess, and this baby is her, and her mother has never existed. She knows all these things now, but the thing that she knows most strongly is that she will protect this child, and not only because this child is her. 

(It is alright to be selfish, Thyme, she remembers her mother telling her, it is alright to take things for yourself. You do not need to give yourself away, remember that.)

She has to build a crib and cradle for the baby, and until it’s finished, until she knows that the birchwood and blanket is as comfortable as it can be, she sleeps with the baby -- with Thyme, her name will be Thyme, and she smiles as she thinks it -- on her chest. 

She goes into the village, walking through the woods as baby Thyme looks at the trees and the plants with wide eyes, brings her to a farmer who has raised three girls, knocks at her door, and says, help me. 

The witch doesn’t know how to care for a child, and she is going to learn. She must learn. 

The farmer helps her gladly, something in her eyes that tells the witch that she misses having children, that however much she loves her girls, grown and adventurous, sun-browned and strong from working the fields with her mother, she misses caring for an infant. 

She learns how to make formula out of goat’s milk, how to burp the baby, how to change and wash her. She learns how to tell why the baby might be crying -- even though baby Thyme rarely cries, prefers to watch the world with her big, dark eyes -- and how to fix what might be wrong. 

She sits with the farmer as Thyme plays with a doll carved from a cow’s bone, and learns how to thresh wheat. 

The farmer never asks where the baby came from, but does remark how alike they look, that Thyme looks just like her mother, and the witch smiles at that. 

Thyme seems to grow quickly, learning to crawl, and then to toddle around while hanging off the furniture, and the witch cries at Thyme’s first, unsteady and unsupported steps, even as she builds high shelves into the rafters of her home so that Thyme won’t end up eating things she shouldn’t.

The witch takes Thyme into the village more and more, first in a bag tucked up close against her chest, and when Thyme grows more, holding her hand as she runs through the woods as fast as her little legs will carry her. Every time Thyme runs off to bring back a flower, the witch feels a surge of fondness she refuses to suppress. 

The mill is built, and the witch watches as Thyme runs off to play with the other village kids, brave and fearless and so, so curious. 

She teaches Thyme her first charm when the girl is eight, and Thyme takes to the craft like she takes to memorizing the names and uses of plants, like she takes to a bow and knife, like she takes to books, exactly as the witch knew she would. 

Sometimes, the witch hates the lie she’s made Thyme into. She agonizes over it, over she should tell the girl her true parentage, should spill this secret like a cut bag of wheat, but--

She does not want Thyme to know that she was traded away so easily. She does not want Thyme to know that to her birth parents, she was worthless. 

She asks, though. Asks, do you want to be like the girls in the books? a princess? and is warmed to the core when Thyme answers no. 

Yes, the witch had known what she had answered. Yes, the witch knows that Thyme loves her life, her studies, the woods, her home. 

(Yes, the witch knows that Thyme loves her mother, because the witch loved her mother. She knows this, and still, she asks.)

The witch teaches Thyme how to make constructs, how to animate them, is proud beyond words when on her fifth try, casting over a wood skeleton covered in clay, the shape of a rabbit, the thing shivers to life, and hops over to push it’s nose into Thyme’s outstreached hands, the girl beaming so brightly that the witch thinks the woods might be glowing with it. The rabbit-construct is lumpy, and uneven, it’s movements slow and unnatural, and she has not yet taught Thyme how to cast the illusion spell onto it that will make it look real, and alive, but Thyme looks so happy that the witch nearly, nearly, forgets her guilt at the purpose of this spell.

Thyme grows, first into a teen, skinny and narrow from how she had shot taller like a willow tree, bony and sharp and lean, and into a woman, growing broad from good food and hard work, takes to hiking into the woods for days at a time with only her knife and her bow and a pouch of herbs, returns home with wild hair the witch combs out for her as Thyme tells her of her adventures.

It matters not that the witch knows all of these stories, knows them because she lived them herself, when she was a girl. She listens to her daughter, dragging the comb through her tangled hair, asks about the falls she found, the cliffs, the animals, the herbs, makes sure that Thyme knows that she will be listened to, that she deserves to be listened to. She listens, because she knows that no matter how much Thyme loves going on these adventures, she also loves coming home, and sharing in these simple, cozy moments.

Winter comes. With the cold comes a grief, a guilt, that weighs heavy on the witch’s heart. She begins preparing for the ritual, for the time-spell that will send her daughter backwards and into loneliness and into the position to save herself from what her true parents would force her to become, backwards to learn the truth, backwards to become her.

She knows why she must do this. She has scryed on her construct, the prince, the soon-to-be-king, every moon since she sent him away and took herself in his place. She sees what he has grown into, she sees what the power has done to him, she sees and she knows that she and her daughter would have suffered greatly in that role. She sees him make hard choices.

She sees him go to war.

She sees the illusion she cast over branch and clay bleed. She sees him, bandages around his torso, arm hanging awkwardly by his side, leave the castle, and wade into the lake outside of it’s walls. She sees the clay in the lakebed melt towards him, heal the wounds, make him fit to wield a sword the very next day.

She does not want that. She does not want that for her daughter.

It is alright to be selfish, Thyme, she remembers her mother saying to her, remembers saying to her Thyme, bleeding for others is a gift. It is valued, but it is up to you to give it.

Spring comes. Reedy plants are tended into a circle. Summer comes. Fires are burned over the dirt, ash mixed with soil. Fall comes. The heart of a boar is buried under the circle, placed to rest with gentle words. The witch and her daughter, Thyme and Thyme, stand together, hands raised, looking at each other.

The witch whispers, I’m sorry.

And her daughter disappears.

[kthstrawberryshortcake]

BTS Reactions: Their S/O is an Actual Witch

a/n: I pulled from a bunch of different witchcraft traditions for this one, just to give it a little variety. Once again my own life inspired a reaction post concept :')

REQUESTS ARE OPEN, send some in please! I'd love to hear your ideas!

Please note that the spelling of magic with an added k at the end is intentional.

You already know this was minimally edited. Proceed with caution. <3

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Jin | tarot:

The first few times Jin noticed a deck of cards laying around your apartment, shortly after your relationship had begun, he didn’t think much about it. He really had no reason to, honestly. It wasn’t until he overheard you quietly talking to yourself while setting out cards on the table in front of you one evening that he even paid much attention. “Spirit, is there any more information you can give me about this topic?” you muttered to yourself before shuffling your deck, taking the cards that flew out and laying them face up in front of you.

Considering this odd behavior, Jin observed as you peered intently at the cards, the wheels turning in your head practically visible. After a minute you felt his eyes on you, instinctively turning to look at him, taking note of his bewildered and vaguely concerned expression. That was when he finally got brave enough to ask what on earth you were doing. You smiled at him, patiently explaining that you read the cards in order to get guidance or insight on basically anything in life, and that they often answered questions that would otherwise go unexplained or without clarification.

He nodded slowly, sort of understanding what you were saying to him, though still kind of giving you a weird look. You could tell that just then, Jin thought the whole concept was weird, but at least he wasn’t opposed to it as far as you could tell. Not everyone was even willing to entertain such ideas.

After a few months, however, he regarded it very differently, having observed your use of tarot over that period of time. You felt a surge of warmth and satisfaction the first time Jin entered your apartment, immediately stating “Get your cards, I need advice.” Thus he grew to appreciate your craft.

Yoongi | wicca / paganism / related holidays:

You never actually had a moment where you told Yoongi about your practice of witchcraft, and you definitely didn't get into the religious aspects. During the early stages of your relationship, you just kind of did what you needed to do without regard for explaining your actions. He definitely noticed the small things you did, simple things like burning sage. He didn’t act in response to this little action, just became more observant and curious about your practices and beliefs. Over time he just absorbed the things you did, then did his own research to learn the purposes of your actions. Unbeknownst to you, he had learned, entirely on his own, a great deal about your witchcraft. You had no idea.

One day Yoongi noticed that you had marked Samhain on your calendar in big red letters, and he decided to ask you about it. You were shocked when he inquired about your plans for the holiday, having been fully unaware of his knowledge of its existence. You explained to him what you were planning to do, and he surprised you again by understanding what you meant without further explanation.

A month passed and October 31 was only a week away. You were having dinner with Yoongi and the rest of the members, who were also your close friends. Conversation shifted to Halloween parties and who was doing what. Several of the boys had decided to attend a particular party, buzzing with excitement as they discussed costume ideas. They then proceeded to invite you and Yoongi to join them.

“Sorry, we can’t go. We have plans.” Yoongi replied, earning a scoff from Jimin. “Plans for a nap, hyung? Come on, for just one night quit being such a grandpa.” He complained. You didn’t know how to explain that you weren’t just being antisocial this time. Thankfully Yoongi beat you to replying, “Y/N and I will be observing Samhain. We can’t join you.” He stated matter-of-factly, warming your heart with his support of your beliefs, but thoroughly confusing the other members.

“You’re doing what…?” Hobi inquired, baffled. Yoongi patiently explained. “Samhain, it’s the same day as Halloween. It’s a pagan holiday marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of the cold part of the year. There are various rituals and activities to be done to observe the day. Y/N and I will not be able to come to the party because we will be busy with Samhain tasks. As a witch it is a very important occasion, the witch’s new year.” You were impressed at how well he was able to explain the situation to the others.

With that, the other members backed off about the party, but they were suddenly filled with curiosity about you being a witch and all the things that entailed. The bad news was that you were bombarded with questions. The good news was not only were your friends curious and supportive, but Yoongi was supporting you wholeheartedly without you even realizing. You felt very lucky to have him.

Hoseok | astrology:

Not long after meeting him initially, you began to get the feeling that Hoseok was a skeptic when it came to more esoteric subjects. As such, you didn’t even mention astrology to him until you’d been together for a couple of months already. You were sitting at a cafe, sipping your warm drinks and casually catching up after a busy few days at work.

You thought it best to use something he was familiar with as a segue into the topic, so you brought up the concept of the Chinese zodiac and the meaning of each animal’s years, as well as how that is often seen as an indicator of compatibility for relationships or even just friendships. Hobi fully understood your point, though he wasn’t sure where you were going with the conversation overall.

You then spoke about Western Astrology and a general overview of how it is used to determine compatibility as well. You thought it best to keep it simple so he didn’t get confused. You explained that to be able to get the information you were wondering about, you needed the time he was born. Hoseok shrugged, because like most people, he didn’t know his birth time off the top of his head. You suggested lightly that perhaps he could ask his mom, remaining nonchalant in your tone, but employing the puppy dog eyes you knew he could never resist.

Only minutes later, he was calling his mother to ask for the information. You were pleased that you’d managed to get a hold of his birth chart, as that was the basis of everything you wanted to know, and you made a mental note to do some deeper analysis when you got home. Your greatest curiosity was the synastry chart for your relationship, a type of compatibility chart that overlays one person’s chart on top of the other. You didn’t expect to actually get Hobi interested in astrology. His indifferent tolerance of the subject combined with his willingness to seek information you requested were more than enough for you.

Namjoon | kitchen magick:

Namjoon, your beloved genius sweetheart of a boyfriend, was also a walking accident waiting to happen. His clumsiness was quite honestly an issue. You worried about how hard he was on himself, too, though. He was a dedicated leader and ridiculously busy at all times  thanks to his love for his work. As a kitchen witch, you did what you could to use your talents to help him.

On a day when he seemed particularly scatterbrained, you made him peanut butter banana toast for breakfast, with peanut butter AND bananas for luck and bread for protection and prosperity. When Namjoon was stressed about writer’s block, you made him your special hot chocolate recipe, with vanilla extract to promote calm thoughts and a sprinkle of gingerbread crumbs for creativity. When he was burnt out from hectic schedules, you made him lemon tea with sugar, lemons being for rejuvenation and healing, while sugar was for happiness and sweetness in life.

One evening Joon remarked how your cooking always made him feel better, and you explained that it was because you used kitchen magick. He’d had no idea until that point, and while he was shocked he was also extremely intrigued, wanting to learn more about your craft. From then on, Namjoon was always sure to ask what the food was for before happily consuming it, in awe of its efficacy as well as your thoughtfulness in making it for him.

Jimin | candle magick:

You really didn’t know how or when you should explain to Jimin about your inclination toward candle magick, or that you were a witch in general. You didn’t just stick to your own personal practice, either. You had a little business selling spell and intention candles online as well. You decided, however, that until you could figure out how to explain it all, you’d just go about your regular routine and activities without saying anything about them to Jimin.

What you hadn’t counted on was Jimin’s inherently sweet, helpful, and supportive nature. The first time he’d appeared when you were working on your candles, you really had no idea what to say to him, so you just sort of smiled and kept doing your thing. Your heart warmed when, after a few minutes of observing you, Jimin jumped in and started helping with your task.

The two of you were sorting components to put into the batch of protection candles. Most of the ingredients went directly into the wax, but there were a few you liked to put on top, which was what you and Jimin were organizing. Each candle was topped with black salt and sea salt, plus a piece of Snowflake Obsidian and a tiny pentacle charm, finished off with a cinnamon stick and a bayleaf half submerged in wax, half sticking out.

Jimin was helpfully making a pile of the topping components for each candle so that they would be ready when you got to the stage of assembling the candles. It wasn’t until the little piles were finished, the tins for the candles to be poured in were neatly arranged in front of you, and you had begun putting the actual ingredients into the candle wax that Jimin even questioned why you were doing this. Promising to explain once finished, you poured each of the candles into the tins and added the topping items.

Leaving the candles to cool and harden, you explained it all to Jimin - about your being a witch, about your candle shop, and about the purpose of the batch he’d just helped you create. You braced yourself for a bad reaction, conditioned to expect that after years of being bombarded with others’ distaste for your craft. Shockingly, though, Jimin just smiled and asked if he could help you make your candles more often, admitting that he’d had a lot of fun today, and that he thought it would be a great way to spend more time with you.

Taehyung | crystals:

At first it was nothing but noticing all the crystal jewelry you often wore. When you and Tae were just getting to know each other, he’d always compliment you on your style or on specific pieces, like a quartz point necklace or obsidian beaded bracelet. You knew your choice in accessories could be seen as a tad unusual, so you were happy that he seemed to appreciate it.

But his casual interest in your jewelry was nothing compared to the first time he came to your apartment. He was in awe of the numerous crystals of every shape and size that were scattered around your space, the epitome of an “ooh shiny!” reaction. It amused you greatly, especially when he asked you about your “rock collection” and where they all came from. They truly were impossible to miss, with many of them in every room of your place.

You half expected him to shy away when you started explaining the reason for your crystal collection and the purposes of each piece, but surprisingly he remained just as interested, listening closely in fascination. He asked specifically about the big pieces first, which made sense considering they were the most noticeable. You had quite a few amethyst pieces, as well as some large clear quartz and an abundance of huge chunks of rose quartz (your favorite, so you kept a lot of it around).

Taehyung was so intrigued that you spent over an hour answering his many questions, explaining the origins and properties of your various stones. He was especially interested when you explained that this was why you wore the jewelry that you did. By the time the conversation ended for the night (you were touched but a little exhausted by his enthusiasm after a while) Tae expressed wanting to get some small crystal bracelets to go with the bracelets ones he wore regularly, especially obsidian or black tourmaline because they were both for protection AND matched the aesthetic of his usual stash. You filed that information away, making a note to surprise him with a few later. By the time you’d been together almost a year, he was deeply into the crystal interest just like you were, having learned all their properties and even begun gifting some to friends for various occasions.

Jungkook | general witchy activities:

It took weeks and weeks of noticing unusual details about your life for Jungkook to even question why you did what you did. At first it was small things, like picking up on smells of incense and sage on you and in your apartment (after all, Jungkook has a very sensitive nose). Then he picked up on of how you would occasionally mutter things to yourself under your breath with intense focus. These things alone were perhaps a tiny bit odd, but all in all not terribly strange.

It was when you started spending a lot more time together that your behaviors began to seem weird to him. Like the little table in the corner of your living room that was covered with a bunch of random objects . On one occasion he picked up a cookie from it and started to take a bite, only for you to snatch it out of his hand frantically, scolding him for taking it.

Another day, he took a drink of water from a glass mason jar that was sitting out, Once again, you took it from him as quickly as possible, saying “you can’t just drink that without knowing what you’re doing!” Other than being a waste of moon water, thankfully this incident was harmless, but it might not always be if care were not taken.

Jungkook was thoroughly confused, and honestly, a little bit freaked out. He actually went to Namjoon looking for advice, literally asking him “why is my girlfriend so weird?”, leaving Namjoon doing his best to hold back laughter. “Jungkookie, she’s a witch. The cookie you took was an offering on her altar, and you were drinking moon water from that jar. I suggest you ask more questions and be more aware, then everything won’t seem so strange.” Thankfully, Jungkook followed his hyung’s advice, and there were far fewer magical mishaps after that.

a/n: I adore feedback AND requests! Please feel free to send some my way. <3

[plaidbooks]

Cabin Life - Whittling Roses

A/N: Hello, I have lost complete control of myself and just keep writing this AU. I blame @berniesilvas, but I also love her and this AU so much. For now, this was all the concrete ideas I had--everything else is vague ideas that I don’t have a fic plotted for yet. I hope you all enjoy!

Tags: just fluff, the briefest mention of smut (only one line), and a little bit of a make-out session

Words: 1857

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba  @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy  @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl  @glimmerglittergirl  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

As predicted, the snowstorm blocked off contact between you and Sonny for most of the winter months. As soon as the snow started to melt, it would snow again, causing a bigger buildup. He texted you when he could—when the cells had connection—but otherwise, he was confined to his cabin, as you were to yours.

He never once stopped thinking about you, especially when he was huddled in a pile of your blankets, the fireplace happily crackling in front of him. He remembered the night he made love to you right there on the floor, and he wished he could do it again, in his bed this time. Even the thought of your body in his embrace, your warmth and scent surrounding him, was enough to make his body flush with desire.

To help take his mind off you…well, to help control his thoughts—there was no “not thinking” about you—he took a block of wood inside, his whittling blade in hand. When he looked at that block of unimpressive, plain wood, he could clearly see what he wanted to make. But even with his skill, it was a complicated task. At least he had months to work on it.

He spent most of his time whittling. He only took a break to cook, eat, maybe watch tv if he could get a signal in the blizzard. He also brought in a separate piece of wood, to practice different techniques on; he wanted his gift to you to be perfect, to show his love for you.

Sonny let his mind wander as he whittled—as long as he paid attention to the details. His mind irrevocably went back to you every time. He wanted to ask how you felt about kids; though you had mentioned wanting them before, he wanted to see if that was still true.

Eventually, his mind wandered to him marrying you. He wanted to propose, with rings and everything, have both your families there. Maybe he could build an archway to go in that meadow or something, cover it with flowers. He was already building a bridge to go across that creek by his place. An archway shouldn’t be too hard.

Then he smiled as a thought struck him; what if he whittled the wedding rings? He’d have to get better, perfect his craft before he even attempted at something so important. He’d have to talk to you about that, too, make sure you were okay with it. He had enough money to buy a traditional ring, if that’s what you wanted.

 ***********************

About a month into his project, he finished the first of what he hoped would be a dozen roses. He gazed intently at the bud, the petals. Then, his eyes travelled down the stem to the leaf, the veins carved into it. Was it the best rose ever made? Absolutely not. But it was a rose, and it would be perfect for you.

It had taken him much longer than he had anticipated to make one rose. He had stopped frequently to practice petals and veins, though, which had taken up time. Still, he was afraid he wouldn’t finish them quick enough; he had never spent a winter in the cabin, and he didn’t know how long the storms lasted (he had to make a call to the Willis’s for how to cover his gardens). So, while he felt jubilation at finishing one rose, he didn’t celebrate, instead getting right back to it.

The second rose only took him two weeks, and the third, a week. Now that the stems were done, he was getting faster at doing the petals and leaves. He still took his time, made sure he didn’t mess them up, but he was improving. Some of them, he left as bulbs, the petals just opening, while others were in full bloom. He debated painting them, but he wanted to make his own dyes, and he had no idea how to do that. Plus, he kind of liked the light, wooden color.

Once he finished, he fought the urge to continue working on them. He did go back and fix up some details in the first flower that he learned to deal with by the tenth. Now came the question of what to put them in. Does he get a fancy ribbon and tie the stems together for a bouquet? Or should he whittle a vase for them? It’s not like they needed water.

Outside, the blizzard raged on. So, Sonny figured he could make a vase, and if he didn’t like it, he could toss it in the fireplace. Taking yet another block of wood, he got to work. This project, he had a little less of a vision than before. He thought about it as he pulled the roses together, measuring how big of an opening he needed on top.

Slowly, a shape began to form in his mind’s eye, and he started cutting. He wanted a long, skinny neck on top, and a wider base. He wouldn’t have to hollow the inside, only the top part enough to hold the roses. Still, he was doing it by hand, and it took him another month to have just the basic shape done. But he wanted to add details.

Taking his smallest whittling tool, he went to work on the design. Maybe it was corny, but Sonny was a corny guy. He carved apples and his best attempt at lavender flowers, the two things that drew you both together. And in the middle, he carved out a heart, both of your initials inside. He smiled when he was done, knowing that you’d love it regardless; it came from him.

He collected all the wooden roses and rearranged them in the vase until they were how he wanted them. He smiled proudly at the sight, and he wished the snow would stop so he could give them to you now.

 **********************

He only had to wait another two weeks before the snow finally let up enough for him to visit you. The sky was a bright blue, the sun making the fallen snow blinding. Sonny texted you that he was coming over, asking if you wanted to go with him to the local shops to restock on some food. You agreed, and he was instantly on his ATV, the roses zipped up protectively in his jacket.

Sonny parked, then came up to your front door, vase in hand. He knocked and then was suddenly worried that you’d hate the roses, that you’d think him childish. You had given him blankets, something useful, while all he made was wooden flowers—

You opened the door, smiling brightly when you saw Sonny standing there. You had missed him deeply, and you were happy to see his hair and beard longer. Then your eyes flicked down to the wooden vase clutched in his hand.

“What’s this?” you asked, voice hushed in awe at the bouquet.

He swallowed hard. “I, uh, I made ya these fer ya…. I thought, ya know, that I should get ya flowers. But they always wilt and die, so I thought if I made them outta wood, then….”

“You—you made these?” Your eyes tore from the roses to lock to his blues.

He slowly extended his arm, holding the vase out to you, and you took it, marveling at the details in the leaves and petals, then the vase itself. You chuckled as you recognized the apples and lavender, and you had to blink away tears when you saw the heart.

“Sonny, I love them. Thank you so much,” you breathed, smiling up at him.

He grinned nervously, shifting from foot to foot. “Ya do? I was afraid that they weren’t useful—”

“Of course, they’re useful,” you replied, and he tilted his head, brow furrowed. “They show me how much you love me, even when you’re not here to tell me yourself.”

The brightness of his smile could match that of the sun. “Plus, they’ll never die, like my love for you.”

“You sap,” you said, giggling. With your free hand, you grabbed his jacket and pulled him to you for a sweet kiss. His nose and lips were chilled from the wind outside, but you didn’t care. Besides, his lips warmed quickly enough against yours.

“Come on; let’s head to the market so I can get ya home ‘fore the snow starts back up,” Sonny muttered against your lips.

You snuck another kiss. “Why bring me home? Why not just take me to your place? I know we could keep each other warm”

He let out a low growl, kissing you deeper, his tongue in your mouth. Your bodies were magnetic, drawing each other closer. It was a struggle to pull away long enough to place the roses on a table before you were back, body melding to his, hand going to his hair. He pushed you against the doorjamb, hands exploring under the hem of your jacket.

Your father cleared his throat from inside the house, and Sonny sprung off you as if you had shocked him. “S—sorry, sir—” he stammered, face turning a bright red.

Your father crossed his arms, giving him a hard look. “Just close the door; you’re letting the heat out.”

You gave Sonny a sheepish grin as he came inside, closing the door behind him. You told him you needed to pack some things, and you took the vase, heading for your room, leaving Sonny and your father alone.

The latter studied Sonny intently, gazing at him from over his spectacles, and Sonny tried not to fidget under his scrutiny.

“I intend to marry your daughter,” he blurted out. He winced internally; why the fuck did he say that?! But now that it was out there, he was prepared to defend it to the death. He kept his face a mask of stone, not letting your father see his fear.

He continued staring at Sonny, weighing his words. “Does she know that?”

“She does; I told her last time she was over. From the moment I saw her, I knew that I wanted nothin’ more than to marry her.”

He nodded lightly; just a jut of his chin. “Have you proposed? Do you have a ring?”

“It’s only been a few months; I wanted to wait a lil, make sure it’s what she wants, too,” Sonny explained.

“Just don’t wait too long; I don’t want you leading her on or hurting her.”

Sonny’s eyes widened in offense. “I would never—”

You came back right then, a duffle bag in your hand, and glancing nervously between the two men. “Whatcha talkin’ about?” you asked uncertainly.

“Nothing dear. Have fun and stay safe,” your father said, and he came over, kissing your cheek, then headed to a different room.

You cocked an eyebrow at Sonny, but he just shook his head, moving to hold the door open for you. Confused at the tension, you went out into the crisp, winter air, taking a deep breath. You were sure Sonny would tell you the whole story later.

[phoebehalliwell]

Paige/Henry - any (or all) season that isn't 8

going from the beginning and assuming this all happens off screen one second i have to google how old paige would be in season one. 21. meaning she's theoretically starting her 3rd year of college bc protip to all those w august babies its best to have them be the oldest of their year rather that the youngest <3 we don't know how old henry is, but idk i'd say he's probably like 3 years older that her

s1: paige is in her studious era, & has dreams of becoming a social worker, but is still interested in art. she's also into astrology and other witchy things, as we know from her friend/coworker in season 4. paige goes with all of her artsy friends to some sort of gallery/art show/party/something. henry is Also there with his best friend bc his best friend's girlfriend at the time has like some art showing there or something idk some skin in the game. but henry is like. So Out Of His Depth. really trying to stick to the walls like avoiding all the artsy fartsy folk dropping names he's never heard of until he hears one voice cut out from the rest because it's just so genuine and so unpretentious unlike everyone else here who seems to be talking out of their ass this girl no she's real. blah blah blah they have a conversation they hit it off paige reads henry's palm and we lay in some foreshadowing someone snaps a polaroid of them paige gives it to henry it's cute. and it looks like we're going to tee up a date or something where henry gets a call from work one of his parolees was just arrested for idk possession of a knife or something so henry leaves and paige is unsure of where he went. they don't get the others name, and there's this kind of feeling of i hope i'll run into you again, but it's a big city, so probably not.

s2: eclipse viewing party!! glen even made it into town for this and paige & him are in one of the more will they ish stages of the will they won't they. they're at an old high school classmate's rooftop get together and they've all made special glasses. from the roof, paige swears she sees that guy oh my god no that's that guy from the party and she wants to call out his name but she doesn't know it she wants to call out to him she's calling out to him but she has no words to say it with. later that day, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the polaroid from season one. how did that get there (telekinetic orbing lol uwu 😛)

s3: she's started her job at social services. about halfway/ two thirds in she gets idk one of henry's parolees as like. idk something she's doing i really don't know stuff about things. henry's there. paige maybe has the polaroid pinned up in her cubicle. they meet! it's a it's you moment. they go out on a date. it's great. they go out on a second date. also a success. and a third, and a fourth. mm, but now it's kind of going really well. which is actually kind of a bad thing. as it turns out, neither of them have been in a committed relationship bc they always end up bolting. things start to fall apart. and it's bitter for both of them bc they were kind of a figment that lived in the other's head for so long that surely this had to be something but now it's kind of just collapsing and neither of them is really working to fix it are we really just gonna watch this fall apart? no!! dramatic rain love confession. we can do this!

s4: paige is a witch. ruh roh. hmm. can we do this? henry can feel her pulling away and was like woah didn't we already dedicate 3b to this are we really doing this again? but piper and phoebe are like ooh hmm human boyfriend like um. how much do u really like him? bc um. they don't really like usually like. last hella long around here. specially if they know about the craft. so now paige is torn because like she likes henry she really does but she can't have his death on her hands. but as the halliwells start to fall apart when phoebe goes full dark side paige ends up falling back into henry's arms bc he always makes her feels better feel safe feel at home. end s w the i'm a witch confession

s5: we're doing the simon marks bit bc i love henry in that episode. i forget the main plots in s5. henry probably clocks cole at least once for trying to kill paige and cole almost like barbecues him. we could also potentially go the other direction (or do both just spread over time) when cole's trying to be good him going to henry bc he's like hey you help like. fucked up people not make the same mistakes. and henry's like. sure? paige and henry move in together by the end of s5.

s6: chris is there! chris is weirdly close with henry (because well leo kinda wasn't there so hello surrogate father figure. henry, who had no father figure, is like hey what's going on). we take this season to unpack both paige and henry's relationships to their own childhoods and their families and how they were raised and how they would want to raise their family.

s7: we're skipping over the avatars bc that plot was weak tho idk could offer some interesting leo/henry bonding as henry's kinda like his brother in law. but idk we're going zankou. and paige runs magic school. henry's in his housewife era and like cooks dinner for paige who you know like works herself to death piper henry bonding over cooking henry does almost everything like kinda wrong because he's self taught but the end results are always good. henry also like reads books from magic school to you know better learn things like astrology or spellwriting to best support paige. paige realizes how much henry means to her and how much she means to him. paige proposes. henry says yes <3

[isimp4hawkz]

The Apothecary

(Hawks x Reader)

100% inspired from this beautiful artwork I found on pinterest ^^

This is my first time publishing any of my fics. I hope it’s enjoyable.

*Skimmed for any mistakes but I may have missed a few*

Words: 2.5k

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"Tell me something birdbrain. Did you come here in search of a remedy or did you come here to snuggle with my owls?" You scold aloud, brow lifted at the scene before you. It temporarily drew your attention away from the herbs you were blending for the person in question. If he really even needed them that is.

The man was bent over, hovering over the counter and barely burying his entire face into the soft plumage of Gamma's snowy collar, rubbing his nose into its depths, small chuckles resounding from him in his own apparent delight. Simultaneously, Thaddeus perched himself daintily onto the golden locks of his hair, managing to keep himself in place as the man's head moved about beneath him.

What shocked you is that they seemed to be genuinely enjoying his company, whereas they hardly acknowledge your existence throughout the day. It was much unlike how they'd usually act whenever someone walked into the shop. As soon as they heard that little bell chime from the entrance, both birds would take off towards their high perches on opposite ends of the room, making it in their best interest to avoid anyone new.

You didn't mind, nor question their habit. They only preferred your lone company either way, though they'd hardly show it. Much like you'd rather be with their company rather than some other person.

On that slow, peaceful evening, you'd discovered that maybe you don't know your beloved companions as well as you thought. For some reason, Hawks was some sort of an exception to them. Much more than an exception, at that.

For crying out loud, he was snuggling into Gamma and cuddling her as if she were a puppy! And she was letting him.

And Thaddeus. Thaddeus' behavior baffled you on an entirely different level. That was a bird who never permitted you any petting privileges, any time you'd insinuate a head rub, he'd screech at you and fan his wings. Very territorial, he was. At least you thought he was.

Yet here he was, God damn nesting in the hair of a complete stranger as if he'd known the man for years. As if you weren't the one who took him in when he was but a weak, fraile hatchling on the brink of death.

"I think your owls like me." Hawks chuckled, his huge crimson wings ruffling giddily when Gamma had begun to coo at his nuzzles, adoringly.

Jealousy. Blatant jealousy is what you felt. You weren't even going to attempt to hide it. You've tried endless times to get those birds to see you as their loving caretaker, showering them with love and treats and sating their every need, but to no avail. If anything, you think they see you the way a caged tiger would view its neglectful keeper, just a source of food.

You huff out a breath, subconsciously putting in more effort to mash the herbs together with the mortar and pestle than you wished.

Hawks noticed your subtle change in behavior. The way you slammed a small jar onto the counter, flicked off the cap, and aggressively shook out whatever was inside onto the cutting board. Or maybe it was the way you were mashing those herbs with a force that made him wonder if they'd somehow wronged you.

Of course; being him, he'd jumped to a brash conclusion. "Oh? Are you jelly that I'm giving the birds more attention than you?"

You stop your relentless mashing of compounds, staring ahead blankly for a moment before shaking your head. "Don't be ridiculous, I-"

"Awoh, it's nothing to be ashamed of, I completely understand."

"I'm jealous of you, actually."

Hawks blinked in confusion, lifting his head away from the owl's downy feathers and looking over at you.

"Seems like they fancy you more than they could ever me." A half-hearted smile tugged at your lips, the morose tone in your voice was inevitable.

Gamma's wide, intelligent eyes shifted to stare at you. It was like she understood every word you said. Her wings lifted, and with a few swift flaps, she was in the air. You flinched when she landed gracefully into your hair, her sharp talons clenching your head as gently as she could.

Hawks chuckled at how frozen you were in that moment, bringing up a hand to scratch Thaddeus on the chin as he stared. He marveled at the way your cheeks faintly turned a darker shade when Gamma had cooed. She'd began to pick at your head softly in a grooming mannerism.

Thaddeus shifted in Hawks' hair, suddenly growing restless.

"Wanna get closer?" Hawks asked him aloud, rhetorically, obliging to the small hoot he received in response and carefully sauntering over to you, wary of the unstable balance Thaddeus had while being on his head.

By the time he got close, you'd managed to settle Gamma down onto your outstretched bicep, but the stubborn owl only flapped back onto your head. The look on your face almost made Hawks laugh out loud, you were distraught. Torn between salvaging the rare chance at bonding with your companion, and continuing the preparation of a remedy for a paying customer.

He knew how much you cared for those birds, so much that he was willing to let you relish in the moment completely.

The smile on his face was somewhat solemn. "Don't fret witchy. I'm sure I can find some other witch who can cook up what I need."

Your brow ticked at the way he addressed you. "Excuse you. I am not a witch. I'm an Apothecary."

Hawks blinked. "Same difference."

You ignored that. "And even if you could somehow find another suitable Apothecary in the general area, I've been told by several patrons that I am the best of the best." You stated proudly, chin held up high in accordance. "The odds of finding someone more skilled than I are low to say the least."

He always enjoyed how confident you were in your craft. That confidence stemmed from true experience and skill, mastery even. You were right for claiming your profession to be deemed that high of a level, there hasn't been a single time in the past where your restoratives had let him down, no matter what their purpose served. He's glad that your clientele have spread the word of your little place, though they're restricted to hushed exchanges of whispers and secret notes passed in inconspicuous areas, out of the sight of any authorities.

The way you obtained some of your ingredients could be considered illegal if thorough investigation was to prosper, but luckily for you, that was yet to happen. No one was dubious of the little flower shop secluded between two towering office buildings at the farthest corner of the longest street in Kyushu. Hawks wouldn't dare run his mouth about its true nature to anyone, he would much rather heal his battle wounds naturally with one of your blends rather than the harsh steroids they'd stick into his body back at the commission.

"Can't deny that fact." Hawks chuckled, looking at you with apparent appreciation gleaming through his hooded eyes. "You've helped me through some tough calls, I don't think I-" He cut himself off in realization of something.

"I...I don't think I've ever thanked you."

You were quick to bring up the fact that he in fact spoiled you. Tipping you thousands over whatever price you'd ask for, as if money was nothing but a nuisance to him and he needed to get rid of as much of it as possible, it had you wondering if he would flaunt it around so carelessly wherever.

"That's different. Of course I'm gonna pay you in exchange for your meds, I'm not some shitbag. But I've never thanked you before."

Now that you think about it, it's true. The majority of times times he's come here, it's been in an urgent burst through the door, with little time on his hands to so much as greet you. You really can't recall a single time where he's thanked you, since he's usually in such a rush. Here one second, gone the next. His reputation stands firm.

Rarely have there ever been situations like this, where he's able to hang around the shop and wait patiently for you to get his order ready firsthand. You'd looked over your shoulder at him while he was appeasing the owls earlier. He had looked so calm, so sweet and tender in that moment, totally relaxed. It warmed your heart to see him like that.

His concern brought a smile to your face, how adorable to think that it would trouble him this much. "Hawks, trust me, you're fine. I know you're thankful. The proof is in the way that you pay literally five times as much as I could ever ask you for—more than that at times!"

Yup. That sounds like something he'd do, even he'll admit it. He distinctly recalls throwing a fat stack of cash at you in several of his hurried instances, not even bothering to ask for the price, or check how much was in the stack. He tilted his head aside and stuck out his lower lip in consideration of his own antics.

But that doesn't stop him from genuinely thinking that you deserve way more than what you make. You're taking one hell of a risk every time you sell another product to some shady person. He thinks you deserve to be appreciated more for that fact alone.

"Well, for what it's worth, thank you Y/n. Really, I mean it. What you do means a lot to me, more than I can put into words." He held your gaze with an adoration in his eyes that you didn't quite understand.

You've never seen seriousness cross that man's expression as well as it did right then.

He's perpetually cheerful and carefree, flirty more oftentimes than he should be. It surprised you seeing him so lacking in that notorious, glowing charisma. Maybe you'd go as far to say that in that moment, it looked like true joy was something he'd never experienced before. You couldn't even form words, rendered a gaping fish.

And maybe you would've actually taken his word for it, if it wasn't for you being reminded of the fact that the two of you had two big ass birds on your heads when Gamma and Thaddeus unexpectedly hooted in unison.

You and Hawks simultaneously broke eye contact to glance up at each other's birds, locking eyes with one another again.

It went silent for a few seconds.

Hawks' hard expression wavered hesitantly, his lip twitching in a futile attempt to remain serious. You then snorted quietly, biting your lip, and that's all it took for the two of you to burst out into a laughing fit that made you to bend over to clutch your sides, causing Gamma to flee from your head hastily and settle on her perch, Thaddeus following suit towards his respective stand when Hawks stumbled backwards a bit.

They'd managed to both ruin the moment and save it all the same, made it into something you didn't quite know you needed until it happened. A good laugh, one that had your face heating up and your cheeks beginning to hurt as the two of you only grew breathless with glee, struggling to keep your balance as you pressed your weight onto nearby objects to avoid toppling over.

The old Grandfather clock at the back of the shop had begun to chime, signaling the passing of another hour.

The sound caused Hawks to gradually come back down from his laugh-high. He submitted to that professional state of mind that subconsciously clawed at his back at times like these, once he was reminded of where he was supposed to be.

It was like someone snapped their fingers and all happiness was wiped from his face. Other than the faint pink still dusting his cheeks, it looked like the laugh that the two of you shared had never transpired.

You didn't even need to hear him say it. After you'd wiped a tear of joy from your eyes and regained your breath, you'd whirled around, right back to where you'd left off before.

A strange atmosphere settled into the shop. It grew peacefully silent, the rays of the setting sun stretched generously into the stop, accentuating gliding specs of dust in their path and lighting the room in a warm honey glow.

Hawks rolled his shoulders, wings reaching out to their maximum length in a comfortable stretch, as you bagged his things.

He'd requested a strong set of numbing-based remedies and other blends crammed with sedatives. It reminded you of the prep for some sort of illegal surgery, but you weren't one to meddle in the business of your customers.

You'd turned to hand him his bag, but were surprised when there was no sight of the man where he'd previously been.

It took a few glances around the room, you almost missed him at first, but there he was, standing before the display window, gazing distantly at the outside world under the evening glow.

Sometimes you'd catch a deep-rooted hardship in his eyes that was nearly impossible to detect. A flicker of something more, something lost long ago that he longs to have again. At times it looked like he was carrying the weight of the world in his wings and nobody knew it.

Or maybe your seclusion in your craft has run you crazy and you're just imagining it all. That's way more believable, anyway.

You'd walked up to his side, eyes trained on the lively cityscape. The city never slept, always bustling with some sort of commotion, but it was oddly calm on that evening. Nothing but nature in all its shapes and forms, like the gentle autumn breeze that shook the trees, like the songbirds softly jittering in a musical dialect only they understood, plus the ocasional car that would stroll by barely exceeding fifteen miles per hour.

Your gaze drifted back on Hawks, who has yet to notice your presence beside him.

Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that man’s mind, what challenges the relentless day brings him, and how he manages to come out smiling in the end.

[a-luran]

Not to be a bother, and this may be late, but I loved to hear some found family headcanons amongst the british isles if you have any. Like how they may show simple affections for one another or who does what for when their living together to take care of the home. Please and thank you~! 💜 Also, have fun livin it up by the water, you deserve some time to relax!

You’re never a bother <3 and we had a lovely time here in the frigid waters of Orkney, thank you!

(I have a great many headcanons for the lads, so I’ll focus on the ones you mentioned.)

Affection

It comes with difficulty at first; and awkwardly. But the truth is this: they’ve come together by choice as much as by circumstance. Reaching across boundaries in mutual agreement, and that is a better foundation to build a home together than most ever get. Easy affection comes with time, sprouting through the cracks and born of an emotion that was already there quietly unacknowledged.

It comes easiest to Wales—to Dai, at least at first. The peacekeeper, the poet. He’ll cook at times (atrociously) and press a warm cup (later mugs) of tea into the hands that need them. Cut off a train of thought with a calm word or a small kindness. If i had to choose a love language for him it would be words of affirmation and gift giving. It catches on swiftly, and what he extends is returned to him in the form of knickknacks from Arthur’s journeys. Thought-out tokens from Ireland (always practical, always lasting). Handmade gifts from Scotland, who out of al of them enjoys crafting things with his hands the most (which is saying something— they’re a crafty lot).

Ireland— Sean, whose laughter rings through the house when he steps through the doorway unannounced like an Autumn breeze— has an ease of affection that the others don’t in that he’s tactile with it. Puts his whole body into it. Will slap Scotland’s back and shove Arthur’s shoulder, or Dai’s, without a thought. They are all frank about bodies but none of them quite as unashamed of them as Sean, who I like to think has always been drawn to healing and landlocked travel. It’s him who will press a cold compress to a fevered brow most readily; suture a wound, and keep the cage of their ribs wrapped, nagging and loud with his instructions to keep fecking still.

Scotland— Alasdair, oh a ghràidh nam fear! my dearest man— carries acts of service like only his broad shoulders could. I’ve always imagined him to be a homesteader, rooted and solid—one that is glad for company, and values it highly for all that he’s a bit lonesome by nature. A hot temper (a shared trait) offset by a practical mind and busy hands, he is probably the best listener, and the quickest to draw boundaries. Solve problems. A silent steadying presence at the other’s backs. Affection to Alasdair are acts of service; time spent together. And it makes him well suited to silent leadership.

And lastly, England. There is a ruthlessness that comes naturally to Arthur—a necessary one, but hateful. The kind that bitters in his mouth and robs him of sleep well into the night. But with something to protect it can be honed and sharpened into something fierce and unerring. I do have it that Arthur has the most difficult time expressing affection and receiving it, but he is also deeply skin hungry; very obviously (if you know to look) covetous of company and a steady port to call home. To the point that he might try too hard, at first, and set himself up for failure and conflict in doing that. That is until slowly he comes to the realisation that he doesn’t have to. In a way, the most genuine show of affection on Arthur’s part is trust. Trust and the sharp edge of a blade at the ready to defend their hard-earned peace.

Homelife

For the sake of not talking more of your ear off asdhkl I’ll change format here a little bit. Because my housekeeping headcanons are vast and overly-specific if i get going.

Arthur: cleaning. Deep, home-brewed-cleaning-agents-dating-back-to-the-Victorian-era-because-if-it-worked-then-it’ll-bloody-well-work-now cleaning. He is the kind to relish clean laundry pinned on a clothing line, and the kind to shout at the sky when the weather turns too quickly and promptly ruins his freshly laundered sheets with well, sheets of rain. Green-thumbed and proud of it, I also reckon he is a bit of a kitchen witch and garden apothecary. Home-made jams in fresh jars, and dried-and-labeled-home-grown herbs are the kind of favours he might extend to outsiders and visitors. Absolutely is the kind to go a bit nutty with it when they’re expecting visitors, especially India for instance. But if Francis is coming to visit? A million times worst but will never accept it. An absolute terror scrubbing the house top to bottom, cleaning the kitchen grout with a toothbrush and sweeping like a fury.

Sean: Sean “refuses” to clean the house (on and off) on account of the fact that he spends the least time in it. In practice he will lend a hand to Daffyd and Alasdair always but never Arthur. Thinks Arthur’s “Francis is coming to visit” cleaning rampages are absolutely absurd and aggravating and will let anyone within earshot (Dai and Alasdair, mostly) know it. Is immediately driven to exasperated despair when Alasdair pauses where he was about to take a sip of tea and perks up at the mention of Francis— and joins in on the absurd quest to make sure the house is spotless.

Dai: Will delegate dishwashing onto Sean but really doesn’t mind it much. He might even like it a bit (as much as anyone can enjoy washing the dishes). I like to think that Dai keeps a (very small) farm as his own home, so he’s got his hands plenty busy with that. it’s nice to be able to sleep in late and know chores are mostly handled when he comes around and stays. He enjoys helping Alasdair with general upkeep the most. I mentioned before that he’d be atrocious at cooking at first but he really does improve with time (over a couple of centuries), and his tea is unparalleled. No one brews a cuppa like Wales.

Alasdair: Groundskeeper describes him best. He enjoys manual about and repairs, being able to fix something with his own hands over a good day’s work. Roofing, plumbing, electric wiring, he’s tried his hand at it all and is probably the most proficient at it from them all (which again is not to say that the others can’t take it up, only that Alasdair is unmatched). The moment the words “just because Francis is coming to visit” leave Sean’s mouth, he gets a glint in his eye that makes Sean throw his hands in the air and leave before he gets a coronary (or once Francis gets there, an eyeful. He really doesn’t know what is worse, being woken up and tossed out of bed because “the sheets have to be laundered”—never mind that Francis has never stepped foot in his room— or catching the lot of them at it).

All in all, they’re a bit like a wolf pack of sorts in my mind i don’t know if that comes across.

[localsky-enthusiast]

Can I get a match up for botw? Thank you! This is what I look like

Age: 19

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: bisexual

Personality: I don't talk to people I don't know usually and can seem shy but once I get to know them a can be talkative and a little bit loud. I don't really hate people unless they give me a reason too. I don't get annoyed or mad easily. I make dark jokes that most of the time are directed to myself. I try to be supportive of my friends but if I know what they're doing is stupid than one will call them out on it. I'm really into the emo style. I do suffer from anxiety and depression, I also am touch starved. I have anger issues but they usually only get bad if I don't get enough sleep. I do tend to speak my mind and have no filter unless I'm around little kids.

Hobbies: reading, drawing, watching anime/tv shows, writing, painting, going on late night drives, witch craft stuff and going on walks.

Likes: anime, art, music, nightmare before Christmas, harry potter, the colors black and purple also green alot, scented things, candles, Halloween, fall weather, animals, and fuzzy blankets.

Dislikes: spiders, super hot weather, liar's, blend food, and people who can't clean up after themselves.

Hello, thank you for requesting!

I match you with:

Link!

Partners in crime.. lol

Pre calamity

You two met before he became Zeldas knight, you two were probably childhood friends, always at each others side.

You're close to being the only person he actually talks to, the duties that have been bestowed on him, it's a lot and you understood that.

Links knows you have no filter, and you probably never intend to, your not scared to call people out when they're doing something dumb and he loves that about you..

He knows that your usually joking about the "dark jokes" you make.. and they can be pretty funny at times! but sometimes.. it can be a bit too much.. when it does get to that point he'll elbow you softly and shake his head, he doesn't want to say anything, but he'll call you out on it.

Link never paid much attention to the fact you were into witchcraft or whatnot, it confused him in a way, but he never told you to stop what you were doing or thought of it as being weird, he's quite interested in it actually, when he's out he'll find different crystals and collect other types of herbs to see if you like them

He knows he can't bring you with him and Zelda when they go out to the different springs and such.. and he knows you can take care of yourself, though he doesn't like being away from you too long. It's weird to him, you two were always by each other's sides when you were younger and even now.. so before he leaves, he'll try to spend time with you.

-going on walks

-sitting with you whilst you read to him

-watching you draw

You two can sit in silence and he'll still cherish that moment, it's like a break from life, from all his duties.

He tries to always be of help to you, knowing you get mad when he doesn't.. he'll clean up after himself, make you different potions and food for you.

Speaking of.. you're his taste tester, Link loves cooking for you but never has time to do so because of his role, the only times he does cook is when he and zelda have to make camp somewhere, making dinner for the both of them. But your not there.. so, before he leaves.. REALLY early in the morning. He'll make you breakfast and make sure it's nice and warm. Sometimes the things he makes is new to you, but hey, it's always delicious.

//

Thanks for reading!

[mammoney-honey]

Summoning Circles: What to Offer the Brothers GN!MC

MC doesn’t need to set up anything to summon them since they have their pact but sometimes its just nice to add a bit of drama. It’s also a good way to get the brothers to accept Just Because gifts. So what would would MC lay out as an offering for their favorite demon in their pentagram?

Lucifer

Lucifer is hard to get gifts for because hes a man of few words and fewer guilty pleasures

MC does their best to keep an eye out for things he does like and finally sets things up when they feel that Luci needs a bit of a break

They mostly offer things that would make for a good date night but with one small exception: special gourmet dog treats 

He won’t admit it, he says Cerberus is just a well trained guard dog, but that big boy gets only the best and MC knows that Lucifer will appreciate the gesture

The rest is all about setting the mood so Lucifer couldn’t possibly say no to staying

The first thing to accomplish this is the finest bottle of hellfire aged wine, a special request put through to Diavolo for whatever he thought Lucifer would like most

And to accompany a good drink you need some good food as well. A charcuterie board supplied with recommendations from Barbatos and Luke. The little guy should be called a mouse rather than a dog with how much he loves cheese. It took a long time for him to stop talking about it

One of the things that MC looks most fondly on of their time with Lucifer was quiet nights in listening and dancing to new music. They didn’t always share the same tastes but they were always willing to give it a go

So MC would find a vinyl, the only thing Lucifer would listen to the purest that he is, of their most recent favorite song or band so that they could share it with him

The last thing offered is that which Lucifer would want above all else as his own, MC

They can think of nothing else that would gain Lucifer’s attention more than offering their full and complete self. His pride could never allow him to deny taking MC when they offer themselves so willingly

He appears in full demon form, he can’t think of who would be ballsy enough to try and summon him and he has to pull back on his full power once he sees its MC

“MC, my dearest love, the pageantry is appreciated but overall unneeded. All you ever have to do is call my name, all I wish is to hear my name on your lips. But now that I’m here lets make sure you are screaming it”

Mammon

He is another one who is hard to gift things to but for the opposite reason as Lucifer. He likes too many things, wants everything and so it makes it impossible to tell what would actually mean something to him

MC tries their best to lay out things that will show how much they love and appreciate their favorite demon

Money of course is the first thing that is set out but not just spare Grimm or human cash

No, MC will put gift cards out for Mammon’s favorite places or for a date that they can have together. It feels more personal that way and they hope it shows that they pay attention to the things he likes

Mammon has a wardrobe to rival Asmo’s but he insists that it all has to do with his job as a model. Gotta keep up appearances and all that yanno. Hes just a label whore though and everyone knows it

He also just melts at the idea that MC might be thinking of what he would look good in so if they put out a new outfit or accessory, even if its just new sunglasses or a belt, he just about explodes

He will scoff and say that hes not sure if human styles are really his thing but of course puts whatever it is on quickly

Next would be a very special edition of the TSL dvds, a directors cut that even Levi couldn’t get his hands on. He has watched it with MC so many times he could practically recite it but they were always borrowing from Levi so it was about time to start wearing out their own copy

The last two things are more personal, something that shows just how much MC thinks of and misses being with him

The first of that is MC’s favorite set of pictures they took with Mammon, a silly photo booth strip that captured their first kiss. MC had surprised him on the first snapshot and it showed a progression of him getting redder and redder before finally kissing them back

Lastly is a page from their diary, as intimate an offering as they can possibly give. Its from a day where the longing for Mammon was at its strongest and filled with sweet words of how much they miss their first man

Mammon is freaked out at first thinking he is being summoned by another witch and is confused to see MC before taking it all in

“H-hey you don’t have to go through all this. I mean of course The Great Mammon won’t say no to the the things he deserves but ... b-but you only ever need to say my name, there is no where I’d rather be than with you”

Levi

Levi has a bad habit of just buying whatever he wants but considering that he has so many fandom’s its not hard to find some piece or another he doesn’t have 

MC feels like his brothers don’t give much thought to his gifts though, just typing in a name they know and getting whatever they find. They want to give him something more personal and can’t just be bought and shipped in two days

MC starts to watch a lot of craft, cooking and cosplay YouTubers to try and put everything together themselves. It felt more genuine that way at least to them

MC tries to keep things diverse, hitting a couple of Levi’s favorites but mostly avoiding anything Ruri related since they are afraid of messing it up lmao

Instead they focus on the anime’s and games that they watched and played together. Almost like a collection of inside jokes that they are using to summon him

The first thing MC sets out is a prettily decorated plate of macrons, doing their best to replicate the colors and flavors described in the one bakery time management game they always played

MC also went through Levi’s super secret fanfiction accounts I will fight you he is totally a fic writer because he has so many self inserts and fix it fics  and wrote out comments for every single thing he had written. They printed them out not because they didn’t think he read them but to show that they were the ones that left them

Along with the comments MC also created art for Levi’s most beloved OC, creating cute enamel pins of them in chibi form with the cannon character he paired them with

 The last two things came as a sort of combo, a couples cosplay from the romance anime they had watched together. The protagonist had been a shut in otaku who had found his soulmate when they were reborn into his world and Levi had latched onto him immediately 

It had taken a lot of blood sweat and tears trying to get both of the outfits cannon perfect but damn it MC was not going to settle for anything less

At one point they forgot they were making it for Levi and just got caught up in the the drama that was finding the perfect buttons and trim color

Overall they were so proud of the sewing skills they just wanted to call on him the moment they were done so he could see but they got a hold of themselves so they could set up what they had planned

Levi was summoned into the circle still wearing his headset and fingers tapping at a controller that had been left behind

His demon side comes out at having been cost a serious match from the sounds of it but his anger turns to confusion at seeing MC and then into wide eyed amazement at all of the things in front of him

He started to gush about every single thing he saw before he realized that MC was there beaming at him 

“You went through all this trouble to prove that you aren’t a normie and yet you summon me this way?? J-just say my name like you’re supposed to! I kind of like hearing you say it anyway ...”

Satan

Satan surprisingly doesn’t like being the center of attention and thus doesn’t really like surprises or receiving gifts. He also doubts that anyone understands him enough to give him what he wants cocky ass that he is

The idea for the things to set out in his summoning circle came to MC when discussing love potions with Satan and Solomon one day. They were talking about how smell plays such a strong part and Satan let slip some of the things he might smell after MC listed some of theirs

So while MC doesn’t have much, well any, experience in magic or potions they do want to try to stir up those feelings those smells produce in Satan

The first thing he had said came as a surprise to no one, the smell of parchment and ink

MC used each of them as their own separate offering on the pentagram. They used a fancy new calligraphy quill dipped in green ink that matched his eyes to write a long love note for him

The ink was still wet on the parchment that they set down and left the quill and remaining ink as the second gift

The next thing he mentioned was another one MC expected: tea leaves

So MC just walked into their local tea shop and let their nose lead the way. Anything that caught their attention or made them want to keep smelling they bought, creating their own special blend just for Satan

It wasn’t necessarily something that Satan would say for himself but MC had started to burn different candles in their room when he would come to rant when he was angry, trying to find a scent that he could associate with being calm when they helped him work through the anger

Whatever candle seemed to work the best is the candle that MC sets out for him. Probably something woodsy, pine or balsam or even sandalwood. It brings back good memories for MC, kissing all those worries of his away and hopes it does the same

The last item is one that made MC blush when they heard Satan admit it, he had liked the scent of their shampoo

He hadn’t said that specifically but he had closed his eyes and described a scent that he couldnt place but that he adored and when MC was taking their shower that night it clicked 

It might have been a little lame, leaving a bottle of shampoo out for Satan but MC knew that when he realized what that scent he loved so much was that he would get the cutest blush

They weren’t disappointed when they summoned Satan. He hid his shock of being summoned this way well, taking his time to walk around the circle and examine each offering. He immediately knew where they had gotten the inspiration and teased them about being such a sap

He stopped when he got to the shampoo though, not sure how that fit into the equation until he smelled it. It dawned on him and there was that blush that he tried to hide by turning his face away

“You always did like to make things difficult on yourself didn’t you? I’m only ever a call away for you kitten. Now come here and let me really breath you in, you’re simply intoxicating to me and I can’t stay away.”

Asmo

Asmo is never shy about when he doesn’t like gifts that people have given him but he has only ever cherished what MC has gotten him. Every small trinket and gift he has on full display in his room and he will wear something that MC got them when he misses them the most

He also will do it when he wants to bother his brothers and show off that MC simply lavished him in gifts (Mammon and Levi are the only ones who fall for it lmao)

So MC decides to offer Asmo things that will allow him to parade around their love for him, things to keep them close when MC isn’t there

The first thing that MC gets Asmo is new nail polish, a color that they agonized over finding because they wanted it to match his eyes perfectly

Asmo has a very organized planner, its how he keeps track of all the events he is invited to, when he has dates, who hes slept with, who hes going to sleep with and everything in between

MC commissions custom made stickers for him so he can decorate the pages of his planner even more. Specifically a whole sheet of cute stickers of them together he could use for when they planned date nights

The next thing was something for Asmo’s room which he was always changing and refreshing so it looked forever interesting for Devilgram pics

MC gets a large print of Asmo’s favorite picture of them together and puts it in a beautiful frame that perfectly matched his favorite decorating style. Perfect to show to the world that Asmo was their favorite demon and that they looked so good together

And so they can take even more pictures of themselves together MC buys a Polaroid camera for Asmo. His phone will always be his favorite thing to take pics on but this way they could have them printed instantly and it continues to let him be trendy

Lastly MC gets Asmo a necklace. A dainty rose gold chain that he can wear with practically everything and with a diamond accented heart shaped locket that could easily be tucked away if needed. It was an enchanted locket, thanks to the help of Solomon, and it warmed when MC was thinking of him

Its the first thing Asmo grabs and quickly puts on, showing it off for MC

“Oh MC you are simply the cutest thing I have ever seen~ I’m sorry I don’t have something to give you in return. I hope the fact that my heart beats only for you will make up for it, now come here I’ve been without kisses too long.”

Beel

Its SO hard not to just grab whatever is in the kitchen at the time and throw it in the summoning circle and call it a day for Beel

But he is more than just his hunger and MC is always striving to show him that they understand that 

It was harder than expected, just because asking anyone what Beel might want always got them food answers. They thought Belphie might be helpful but only got told “he probably just wants a nap ... its what I would want”

MC starts to think of all the most special moments they had with Beel, trying to think what about them made them so memorable and they knew for a fact that it wasn’t the food

The first thing they come up with is a banner that MC made to cheer him on at one of his games. It had gotten a little tattered and torn because it had rained that day but they just couldn’t let it go

Mostly because Beel after winning had ran up into the stands and kissed them for the first time. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t ever kissed but they had always been the one to make the first move but this time Beel had come to them. Of course in the biggest gesture possible

It was cheating a little bit offering a cookbook, it was still food related, but it felt better than putting in actual food 

This particular cookbook was special to MC too, they had spent several months trying to recreate one of the recipes from it down in the Devildom when MC didn’t have it. Even their D.D.D had been no help in finding the human world dish they were trying so hard to recreate

It had finally been Beel who had found someplace that sold the food they had been craving. He had even been able to bring it back completely untouched just so that they could have it all though he didn’t complain when they offered him several bites from their fork

MC pulls the next thing from their own shelves at home, a well read copy of Lord of the Flies. The spine cracked and little notes about their favorite parts scribbled in the margin

It was one of the human novels that Satan had and one of MCs favorites from school. Beel had caught them reading it and thought the title was ironic but the more he watched MC get engrossed in reading the more curious he got

He eventually asked MC to read it to him, he actually liked books even if most didn’t take him for the type it was just that he had a hard time actually reading himself. He always got distracted by food but audio books always worked well for him when he was working out, it turned out to be even better when MC read to him when he was eating

It was the best of both worlds for him and he found the story actually pretty funny, slightly worrying MC but they figured they couldn’t blame a demon for getting enjoyment out of a story like that. He did find their lack of food concerning though so at least there was that

One of the things that Beel often complained about when MC was living in the devildom was that when he went to go eat they weren’t always there. Sure Beel would ask them to tag along whenever possible but it didn’t always happen. He would call them from the kitchen at times and tell them that he missed them

MC was sure the other brothers would have something to say about it but knew that Beel would genuinely enjoy the next thing MC offered. Amagnet with his favorite picture of them. It was MC caught in a candid he took, mid bite in a dessert he had made them and his hand could just be seen wiping some whipped cream off MC’s cheek

It was a way that Beel could have MC with him at his favorite place every time

The last thing that MC laid out was something that was inspired by Beel. He had once given them a coupon for a free meal by him and they had thought it was just about the cutest thing ever

They made him a whole coupon book of favors ranging from cooking any meal he wanted to recording his workouts for him and of course lots of coupons for hugs and kisses

Beel isn’t used to being summoned at all so hes slightly disoriented when he finds himself suddenly in the human world. As soon as he sees MC though its nothing but smiles and he doesn’t even notice the gifts until after

“MC did you know I was thinking about you? Sometimes I just say your name and hope you will appear ... so if you ever think of me just say my name. I want to be here, even if its during dinner” 

Belphie

Belphie is not one to beat around the bush at all. He is a creature of habit and just wants more of the same things that he already has. Dont fix something if its not broke right?

So its fairly easy to fill his summoning circle with things that he loves, just adding to his ever growing collection of happy nap time things

That isn’t to say that MC just grabs whatever blanket or pillows they have laying around, they still want it to be special for him

So yes the first two things they offer to Belphie is a pillow and blanket, there was never going to be anything else but MC spent a long time putting their love into finding just the right ones for him ... and still couldn’t find what they wanted

MC used this as an excuse to create something themselves for their sleepy boy. They dived deep into youtube and pintrest and spent more money than they care to admit on materials until finally they made what they wanted

The first was a quilt large enough for three cause the twins like to make MC a sandwich in a cow print pattern that matched his pillow and demon form marks, lined with the softest fabric she could find that was the same purple as his eyes 

His pillow was another quilted design, this time of a cloudy night sky with a sleepy cow jumping over the moon. MC stitched his name in pretty gold thread on the back long with a sweet ‘I love you’

There was one last fluffy thing to give to him, this one MC knew he would probably scoff and tease them about but they couldn’t help it. They saw the angry looking cow plushie and just could not walk away 

They have actually been sleeping with it when they miss him most and even if he doesn’t like the plushie the fact they have slept with it so much will make him a bit fonder of it

Even though they were pretty sure that Belphie knew every star in the sky MC couldn’t help but get a book with stories about the constellations. He might already know them all but they thought that he might still enjoy hearing them read to him as he drifted to sleep

The last thing MC has to offer him is also star related. A star map of the day that they made their pact. It was the day that MC had fully forgiven everything that had happened before and their relationship had truly began

When Belphie was summoned he was half asleep but knew who it must be even in his sluggish state. He gave a big yawn and looked around at all the things around him 

“At least things are already set up for the perfect nap, including having you. MC next time just say my name alright? Its much more of a drag this way ... and I want to know when you are dreaming of me”

[bitchapalooza]

More hetalia highschool AU, 🌟magic team🌟 edition :)

Under the cut bc it is long ❤️

Vladimir is that one kid obsessed with Twilight but only for the vampires; it was his first ever exposure to vampires thanks to his dad thinking Twilight was an appropriate book for a 11 year old. Team Edward going strong for five years, he'd proudly declare like it actually mattered. He tries his best to dress goth at school even though his uniform gets in the way. Fake ear piercings(his parents won't let him pierce them yet), over the top makeup, he's dyed the top half of his shoes black because his parents were concerned about his obsession with black and wouldn't buy him the black tennies he wanted— "mom look, these are marked down for back to school! Can I pleeeease get them???" "....may I know why the black ones specifically?" "They match the ever nothingness of my soul." "Yep! The white ones it is then!" "Mooooooooooom!"— Vladimir has been dubbed the cringy vampire kid of course.

Lukas is into pretty much anything concerning cryptids and magical creatures because they can't be proven to be fake or real, which intrigues him. He carries a book about mushrooms at all times and info dumps on pretty much anyone about identifying poisonous mushrooms and which mushrooms are safe to eat. His backpack is covered in buttons and pins to show off his interests. He keeps an amethyst in the front pocket of his backpack, reason unknown other than to just randomly pull it out and let Mikkel look at it. He's that kid that always wears his hoodie no matter the season, he never takes it off. Under his hoodie is always a crude worded t-shirt that the school would not approve of, much less his parents. He's relatively quiet and because he's quiet he's considered a weird kid.

Arthur can't decide if punk is his style or if goth is. Either way, his way of self expression at school in addition to the uniform is horrible. Checkered black/red shoes his grandma got him with his older brother's hand me down worn out greying socks—"can I PLEASE just have my own clothes???" "we have perfectly good clothes for you in the garage! I can fix them up to fit you better and everything!" "but I want cool NEW clothes!" "those are cool clothes and as far as the other kids know, they're also new. Now get your transformer backpack and get to the car. I put a new patch on it last night so that should hold it for the rest of the year."— Old Pierce the veil shirt, with holes chewed into the collar from his older brother Dillan, peeking out from under his white polo. A black and red choker to match his black and red slowly tearing apart too big flannel on top of a black pull over. A deep blue beanie, the hoodie of his pull over almost constantly on top when outside the school. He dyes a part of his hair a different color every month. He spikes his hair using too much gel and is convinced he looks good. He talks too much about bands and always gets Vlad and Lukas going on and on about fictional creatures he does not FULLY believe in himself. He does, however, believe in magic and loves Harry Potter, more specifically the Weaselys, to bits.

Natalya is a sophomore, a year behind the boys, and she just kinda pushed her way into the friend group until they eventually accepted her into it. They were the only three she knew who liked occult related topics. She's on the baseball team because she wanted an excuse to hit things with another thing and NOT get detention because of it. She wears the khaki uniform skirt and takes full advantage over being able to wear any kind of tights underneath; skull pattern, plain black, blood splatter pattern, fire pattern. Anything that makes her feel like a badass. She's always talking about antiques and forging weapons, more specifically knives. She has a whole collection of fidget toys but her favorite is this pea pod keychain her father gave her. She's always talking about how she'd like to be a medical examiner and to just prove that she's serious, she'll bring up a picture of a human model and point out the difference between a self inflicted fatal wound and a homicide. She puts up a charade of being able to see and talk to ghosts to freak out Alfred, her extended friend first met through Tolys.

They collectively believe they're cool and that other people know this. They're genuinely blind to the obvious snickers sent their way, being called losers and nerds. They're really knowm for like really pathetic things like; Natalya is Ivan's, tallest and most intimidating member of the wrestling team, weird younger sister by a year. Lukas is just the weird quiet kid that reads by the courtyard garden during lunch. Vladimir is not only the vampire goth kid but the kid who's parents believe the teachers are giving his son low grades on purpose and will yell at them for it. And Arthur is just. He's another Kirkland, immediately assumed to be a massive trouble maker because of his now graduated brother Alistair and one grade above him brother Dillan. Everyone loved his eldest brother Darick and sometimes compare him to Darick.

Compared to what others THINK they do, such as witch craft for some odd reason, the four of them do pretty typical teen activities. Like hang out at the mall. Do their honework together. Play video games and D&D when they have the chance. The boys do have sleepovers still as they have since meeting each other in middle school, Nat not really being a fan of sleeping where she doesn't live but comfortable enough to go to their houses and just chill for the day. They have become friends because of their related interests but thats not what they're ALL ABOUT.

Fun facts/stories about these losers I thought about while bored as fuck:

• Lukas, in his freshman year, went on a nature hike field trip with his lit class after reading Into The Wild. And he brought his mushroom book of course. They walked around, looking at the sights, talked about the book. Lukas just stops at one point, falling behind the class. He picks up a mushroom, goes to the teacher and is like "You see this? Its not poisonous." And straight up fucking eats it without warning. The teacher called an ambulance even though Lukas kept telling him he was fine and that that mushroom was 100% okay to eat raw, but for sure better off cooked. Lukas calmly shows the paramedics his book and they're like "yeah that actually was safe to eat, we don't need the book to confirm that, but um. Please don't ever pick something off the ground and eat it again. Just. Please don't do that, son." .....he did it again before leaving to go back to school but this time he didn't tell anyone.

• In elementary school, Natalya brought in a model of the human brain she asked her dad to borrow. He had to say yes because she was his only child genuinely interested, not bored of, his medical profession and he found it very cute and honoring. So she's at show and tell, its her turn right, and she silently goes up to the front of the class and pulls out the model brain. Teacher tries to step in because, hey, these are 6 year olds—AND WHY DOES THIS 6 YEAR OLD HAVE A PLASTIC BRAIN??? But Nat just shooshes her. In surprised shock, the teacher is just quiet as Nat begins to explain parts of the brain and their function— which was all wrong actually. She knew the words and everything but she didn't get the locations right. She sounded confident and smart and she was telling this to a bunch of 6 year olds so they believed her of course. End of the school day, her dad is having a hilarious conference with his youngest's teacher about the brain incident.

• Vladimir loves reading. He's loved it since he began to learn how, even if his dyslexia gives him grief along the way. So since he loves to read he'll always get excited and read ahead in class or in the public library reading club. One summer, the reading club was reading The Giver and it was getting really good. Vlad was loving the story, so much so that Vlad began to read ahead in his own time when he really wasn't supposed to be, the club was reading it together out loud and discussing it. Now he's read enough and worked hard enough to figure out how to help himself focus better and understand each word and sentence without having to reread it all multiple times over or get stuck. But sometimes the meaning and context to what he's reading doesn't ALWAYS process with the words as he's too focused on reading the words right and it passes right over his head. So Vlad is reading ahead and he's getting to the part where The Giver has given Jonas the memory of the sled again. And Vlad just sits there after reading that paragraph. He rereads it. And rereads it again. And then he leaves his book on his bed, goes to the the hall closet and takes out the ironing board. He grabs a plastic container to use as an ill attempt of a helmet and he just. Rockets down the staircase and hits the wall. He screams and cries and his parents rush in from the livingroom. When asked what happened he just says "I wanted to understand the sled scene better! Now I do and I feel really bad for Jonas!" He just couldn't quite grasp WHY the sled accident hurt, never had a broken bone nor sled afterall, and needed to find out. And that's how Vlad got his first broken arm at the age of 12.

• When Alfred and Matthew moved in with Arthur's family, Arthur didn't like it. He was a moody young teen but he was also just tired of the full house. His cousins were loud and nosey. He had to share a room with his four older brothers already and now with Matthew while Kathleen and Alfred got a room to themselves. Arthur thought this was so unfair. So his solution was to run away. He was 13, he needed a place to have some peace and quiet for once. So he texts Francis and Lukas, the only two of his friends living in his neighnorhood. Francis is not on board with helping him run away at first but then Lukas brings literally all his camping gear for Arthur's use and then Francis is on board because he had the feeling Arthur was going to get himself killed somehow. So as the elder one of the group he accompanied Arthur and Lukas out to the short stretch of woods behind the last street of their neighborhood, intending to go to the big clearing before hitting the roads leading to the airport and whatever else buildings. They're out there setting everything up together and they're done by like 4 pm. They sit down and talk, munch on oreos and other snacks Arthur deemed as essential survival foods. Then Francis looks at his cell and remarks "wow its already 6! Ah, Lukas, we should get home. Afterall, neither of us ran away so we still have supper to eat. Come on Lukas, let's go before our parents come looking for us." They exchange goodbyes, Francis trying his best to hide his cocky smirk. So Lukas and Francis start walking off, Arthur crawls into the tent and eats half a cookie before frowning and feeling too alone. He didn't expect to feel alone because all he wanted was to BE ALONE. Before he knows it, he's running out of the tent yelling after his friends to stop and wait up. "Oh whats wrong, Arthur? I thought you wanted to run away." "I— I forgot I hadn't fed my rabbit is all! I'll run away tomorrow! I'm not... Feeling lonely if.. If that's what you think...." Arthur did not run away the next day. Buuuuuut the three plus Vlad made a tree house together in the Kirkland backyard that they still use today!

[softomi]

Meet the Slayer and her Crew

Life wasn’t always peachy, sunshine, and rainbows; yours was filled with blood, gore, and constant running. Born in a bloodline of slayers, you were part of the few living lineages left. Raised with a tight collar, your free time was spent training to defend yourself. Your after school extracurriculars were mythology literature, weaponry, witch craft, and some days cooking.

“How come she gets to leave right after school?” Many watched you, the last bell ringing signaling class over and while the rest of the students linger for club activities, you entered the car that pulled up to the school gates.

“I heard her parents came and blew up a storm saying that she didn’t need club activities; she’s going to take over her family business or something.”

It was true, as the only daughter, you were to carry the lineage. You needed practice and training to pass on the knowledge.

You always found it lonely and because you were lonely, the world decided to bestow onto you, three losers.

You weren’t intending on running into anyone that night and if you did, you could always play it as a nightly running exercise; but how could you explain this. The pesky vampire’s fangs were mere centimeters from your skin, it drew blood and just as you think that maybe this would be the last time you would breathe; the vampire is thrusted off.

Your hands tightening on the crossbow, the vampire starts running; the aim is dead on, the arrow penetrating him in the heart, and he falls to ashes.

The knot in your shoulder tightens and you’re stretching it out as you turn with a grin, “You’re incredibly late.” You expected to see one of your family friends, they insisted on going out with you that night but what you’re met with is three pairs of eyes bulging out of their sockets.

“What the fuck was that?!” Atsumu falls to the ground, having been the one to touch the thing he suddenly feels infected.

Osamu is taking a step back, oddly aware of the crossbow in your hand, “What?”

The third, still and quiet, Suna almost passes as calm but his eyes show a sudden panic. He isn’t even saying anything, an awkward laugh coming from his mouth.

“I can totally explain!” You drop the crossbow, waving your hands in front of you.

“Explain what?!” Suna shouts.

“Why? The ashes? The crossbow?” Osamu is stuttering.

Atsumu has his hands in his hair, “I touched it. I touched it. I touched it.”

It makes you wonder some days, just how the three losers were so quick to adapt to your lifestyle. It was a secret at first, reluctantly, you let them follow you on your nightly adventures. They would watch in awe and fear at the way you’d handle the monsters. Monsters, that’s what they would constantly call them at first.

Three months, you spent three months with them trailing behind you; constantly bickering with them to stand down. Three months saving their asses as they ran from anything and anyone. They were so quick to act big but then shrink away when a newly turned vampire crawls from the grave.

But then it happened, you dreamed something that shook you to the core. You dreamed of their blood on your hands, sadness in their eyes as they looked at you. The moment your eyes opened; a chill ran down your spine.

So you did something you had never done before, you were going to fight for what you wanted.  

“Let them join me.” You weren’t going to back down. The first time you asked, your parents responded with a harsh no. You jabbed the knife into your father’s desk, a cold stare into his eyes, “I am the future head of the household. I am only one person; I need people. I need people who are properly trained.”

“You’re asking us to train amateurs.” Your father speaks, “Little boys.”

“They’ve survived longer than most. I want them.”

And you got them. It was surprising just how quick they were to accept the ‘private tutoring’ as was listed in their formal invitations.

It was just as surprising how well they did in training. Atsumu competed with you in both combat and weaponry, you two have a little rivalry; but who’s keeping count on who knocks down the other the most. Atsumu is. You were a still a few points ahead, but he insists that the first few months don’t count; he was just getting the hang of it.

Suna seemed to fair better in mythology and demonology lessons. It was the one subject you still struggled with but it was one in which he soared in. You began to secretly think that he had been reading up during the three months they were following you. He’d snort seeing your latest grade on the quiz, his perfect hundred made your face red and you swore vengeance on the next quiz.

You weren’t surprised at how well Osamu excelled in witchcraft as well as cooking. He liked to think of the two as going hand in hand; something your mother noted as an excellent point. She hit your head when he made that comment, muttering about how at least someone understands.

“I take it back, I don’t want any of you here anymore!” You shouted one day when Atsumu landed you on the ground, “I used to be star student.”

“That was when you were the only student.” Suna remarks.

Atsumu leans over your body, a grin on his lips as his head blocks the sun from shining down on you, “Looks like we reached a tie sweetheart.”

“Guys, I think I finally did it. A potion that gives you extra speed.” Osamu appears from the house with glasses on a tray.

“Not it!” Suna and Atsumu shout in unison and you groan.

Osamu gives you a grin as you take the drink, the smell was wretched, “Couldn’t you have added vanilla into this?” You take a small sip, spitting it out immediately, “I swear to god Samu, if this gives me a tail again, I’ll bite you.”

Extras:

Miya Atsumu

“You need to cut off its head.” Suna’s voice was drowned out, the earbud in which is voice was coming from had fallen out of Atsumu’s ear.

“What!” Atsumu screamed as he struggled to keep the creature off, his shielded sword pressing against its neck, but it didn’t stop it from dripping drool on Atsumu, “The fuck this thing drooling so much for.”

“You need to cut off its head!” Suna was practically waking the whole neighborhood.

The creature hissed when a silver bullet penetrated its skin. It snarled, turning its body to you. Your own earbud had already fallen out at the front door when its sister creature had tackled you through a wall. You had told Suna the earbud idea was dumb. You continued to shoot the shotgun, your silver bullets running out as he neared you.

“Atsumu!” You’re calling out, “It’s your turn!”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Atsumu was too distracted wiping the saliva off his face, picking up the earbud and shoving it in his ear, “I’m going to kill you Suna!”

“Cut off the head!” Suna shouts in his ear.

The slime splattered across your face, green coated your skin. You spat out what reached your mouth, the thing fell and behind it Atsumu stood with heavy breaths. Atsumu tossed the earbud onto the ground, stumbling to you. His footsteps are heavy, the sword clattering to the ground, he rests his head onto your shoulder.

“It drooled on me.” Atsumu whines.

You shove him off, “Yeah well you got slime in my mouth, we’re even.”

Miya Osamu

“Uh, Samu!” You were currently backed into a wall, your eyes looking all around, “It’s gone!”

“Just give me a second!” He’s calling from the first floor of the library.

You heard scuffles, you’re trying your hardest to listen keenly. The light footsteps to your left make you turn and throw a fist; you’re not sure if it makes a dent into what you’ve hit; but they’re definitely angry. It lifts you by the waist, your body hoisted into the air, your back colliding with one of the shelves.

You’re groaning loudly, “Samu! Any minute now!”

“What’s taking so damn long!” Atsumu barges into the room.

“Got it!” Osamu starts reading the literature, dusts of light grow from his palms; when he finishes the last line, he blows the dust. It spreads quickly, it disappears when it touches plain surfaces but the creature screeches as the dust paints its body.

“Catch!” Osamu throws a gun to you, it bounces off the railing and back to the first floor, “Sorry!”

You’re sighing deeply, hands gripping a chair to break its wooden legs. You use one of the legs as a stake, driving it into the heart of the creature. It falls to the ground, lying limp as the twins finally make their way up to the second floor.

Osamu presses a hand to your shoulder, “That was a close one right.”

You punch him in the gut, “Suna would know it off the top of his head!”

Suna Rintarou

“What’s it look like?!” Suna calls within the forest.

“Ugly!” You’re calling back as it knocks you down, it’s long arms reaching to pull you by the leg. Your foot meets its face, its teeth snarling when it’s kicked back.

“You gotta be a bit more specific!” The fog is frustrating Suna, even the twins have found themselves lost, you were the only one who called out to him.

“Suna!” Your yelling more as it cuts you with its nails across your stomach, “It’s shape shifting! What the fuck are you!” Your hands shake as the bullets do nothing to it, “Four legs! It’s torso is flipped backwards, fucking looks like Slenderman on meth.”

It pops into Suna’s head, “Oh! You’re not supposed to look at its face!”

“Well, it’s too late now!” You’re staring directly at it. You’re on your feet, the silver dagger in your hand as you hold its gaze, “How am I supposed to kill you!”

“You need to take out its heart!” Suna sees you, through the foggy air, he’s finally reached you, “Hey. I’m here.” You shiver at his touch, “If you give me a second, I can clear the fog. The twins can come.”

“No.” Your own blood drips from your skin, you strike the dagger sharp into the air; it extends tenfold, “I’m finishing this.”

You rip the heart out from its chest, its blood dripping through your fingers. Your foot atop its lying body; the fog settles and the twins appear not far. Suna stares at the way you’re waving the heart in the air.

“Can you not.” He states.

“Suna! Take a picture!”

“No.”

[bittydragon]

The Borrower of L’Manburg (Pt.1)

Notes: So for starters, this story is actually written by a friend of mine on discord. They asked if I would be willing to share this with you all and here we are! I’ve enjoyed reading their writing as the story progresses (and if you didn’t see in the title there are more parts in the making!) With that all said, their story is really good, so I hope you enjoy their writing as much as I do!

It had been a while since you had fled your home in L'manburg, but not nearly long enough to be able to move out of this cursed house that you had had to move into for the time being. You somehow chose what was possibly the worst building to ever live in. The dictator and his VP lived here; the ones that uprooted your life and destroyed the protective walls of the nation you called home. You were terrified every time you had to go out for supplies, but you couldn't survive another long journey to any other nearby building yet. Piercing loud yelling broke your train of thought.

"Quackity, I swear to God, don't you fucking touch that!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" A different voice yells back, laughing. The man behind that voice was a bit younger- Quackity is his name, the Vice President of the dictatorial president. He also seems to be a whole lot nicer in private than he showed when he was ripping down the walls that protected you. You tuned back in to their conversation, but it was too late. You hear the front door slam, and silence.

They had left. This gives you the perfect opportunity to go scavenging. These guys aren't exactly tidy- they leave everything out in the open, which is the only reason why you hadn't risked your life to escape to get somewhere else quite yet. You remove the pixels of the block you had hallowed out for yourself and look around, just to make sure the coast is clear. After replacing the pixels, you make your way across the counter of the whitehouse's kitchen, which is actually just a space below the stairs, with just a crafting table and a few furnaces. Once you get to the furthest furnace away, you clip your fishing rod string to the corner pixel and swing down to check for any leftover cooked food. There's some cooked chicken, so you grab just one pixel of it. You don't want to risk them noticing anything.

Just as you've swung yourself down to the middle furnace, you hear a loud thump upstairs, and freeze. The color and warmth drains from your face in an instant as footsteps begin thundering down the stairs that are right over your head. Oh, fuck…

You scramble to pull yourself up and unhook the string, but it's too late. You hear the clink of the door opening behind you, and your body turns cold. You can't see it, but you can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

"What the actual fuck?" His voice seems slightly amused.

You're sweating bullets, but all of your senses suddenly hit you all at once. RUN. So, you bolt. You're sure that this is the fastest you've ever ran in your life, but somehow he's faster and slams his hand down in front of you.

"Oh hell no, you aren't going anywhere! You're staying right here, you tiny fuckin idiot." He laughs at you condescendingly as you slam into his hand and bounce off, flat on your back. When you try to sit up, he puts his index finger on your stomach to pin you down as he looms over you menacingly. "What, you really thought I'd just let you leave? I gotta know what the fuck you are!" He chuckles without a single attempt to comfort you. Can he even see that you're hyperventilating? You aren't sure.

Realizing that your hands are free, you pull out your swords and slash his finger in one swift motion, drawing blood immediately.

"AH, SHIT!" His scream thunders in your ears. He pulls away to look at the damage you did, and you swiftly scramble up and continue your escape to your block. "Hey!"

You're stopped mid sprint as your sword is snatched away from you, and you stumble a little bit. A moment later, you're also snatched up by the opposite hand. Another moment later, and you're held up in front of a giant, horned face of the man- and he looks absolutely pissed.

"You little piece of shit! What the fuck was that for? I didn't do nothin' to you!" Those words coming from him fill you with rage, but you don't want to piss him off any more.

"Let me go!" You squeak, squirming in his fist, your arms pinned to your side this time. Only your head and shoulders peak out of his hand. He raises his eyebrows at the sound of your voice, obviously a bit surprised.

"Hell no!" He looks at his other hand, at the finger you had slashed. He sucks on it for a second just to clean the blood off. "Not after that shit you just pulled. You're a violent little thing! What are you anyways, huh? Where'd you come from?"

"I'm a villager! Now let go of me!"

"Wh-What?" He laughs loudly. "You aint no fuckin' villager! You're smaller than a bee!"

"Yeah, thanks, I couldn't tell. I am a villager. At least, I used to be."

"What the fuck happened to you then, huh? A witch got you? When did they make that update?"

"Yeah, sure, a witch." You shiver at the memory of what happened to your village. Dream and Technoblade. You'll never forget.

He sets the fist you're in down on top of the furnace and leans over, resting his other elbow on the furnace as well. "Well c'mon, you gotta tell me your life story, I'm so very interested." Sarcasm drips from his stupid muttonchops.

"Piss off." You scowl at him. You remember how Dream had threatened the whole village if anyone ever said anything to anyone. Schlatt uses his thumb to nudge your head, just to annoy you. He smirks and chuckles.

"Y'know, you're kinda cute. I might have to keep you around." Your eyes widen at that.

"What? Keep me?"

"Yeah! Like a pet or some shit. Build you a little terrarium or something." He snickers.

You start to struggle in his grip again, which immediately tightens out of instinct. "Let me go! I'm not staying here with you, you crazy bastard!"

"Woah, woah, why the hostility, Jesus! Relax! I'm great to be around, I don't know why you're freaking out. You'd love Quackity, too." He stares off into space for a moment in thought of his new VP.

"No! I'm not staying with either of you! You ruined my home in L'manburg!" You fight with all your might to free yourself from his hold.

His eyes light up with something you can't quite place, but it isn't good. "Ohoho! So that's where you came from! L'manburg, huh? What the fuck did Wilbur do to you!" He laughs so hard that he has to straighten himself standing up. "Y'know, I rule L'manburg now. So you're technically my citizen. I rule you." He chuckles at your pitiful attempts to get free. "You're just as pathetic as all the other citizens I rule. Except with you, I can hold you in my hand. Oh yeah, you aren't going anywhere, anytime soon."

You didn't know it was possible to laugh as hard as he is.

~

You huff as you pace back and forth, glancing out the glass he had trapped you in. He had taken away your sword earlier, but before he had trapped you he had taken all of your supplies- your hook, your climbing equipment, your toolbelt, everything besides the pixel of cooked chicken. He said that you had 'earned' that.

Whenever you glance out the glass, you see Schlatt laying in his bed, turning a little bit every once in a while. You sigh, knowing that his VP will be home soon. At least that's what Schlatt told you before he went to sleep.

Speak of the devil, you hear the sound of the front door, muffled by the glass that surrounds you.

Fuck.

"Schlatt, I'm back! I got some extra food and coal and stuff!" A chest opens and then closes a few moments later.

You pushed yourself up and looked around for somewhere to hide. You see nothing. You're out in the open, trapped in glass, without anything to protect yourself. Double fuck. Footsteps can be heard coming up the stairs.

"Schlatt? I- Oh!" Quackity switches his voice to a whisper. "Shit, I didn't know he was sleeping." He giggles to himself. You push yourself to the far back corner away from him, which backfires on you immediately. Quackity swivels around, hearing the slight scuffling noise you made when moving. His eyes widen, as do yours, and he freezes. "What the fuck…?" He whispers, eyes locked with yours. He takes a step forward, causing you to press back even more. He notices.

"Hey, hey, it's okay! Don't be scared! I'm not gonna hurt you." His voice is a lot more calming than Schlatt's, especially since Quackity is still whispering, trying not to wake up Schlatt. You realize that you're shaking when you glance over at Schlatt. He notices that as well.

"Did… Did he trap you?" You nod in response. He squats down so he's not looming over you. "Oh Jesus. Uh… what exactly are you?"

You sigh internally, really not wanting to have to explain it each time. You decide to just give him what you refer to yourselves ever since Dream got your village. "I-I'm a borrower." You reply simply.

His eyes light up and he grins when he hears you speak. "Oh my god. You're so cute." He laughs, then looks over to Schlatt, who tosses a bit in his sleep.

"Can… Can you let me out? P-Please?" Your shaking slowly lessens, realizing that Quackity probably doesn't have the same intentions as Schlatt does. His eyes snap back to you. There's now pity in them.

"Oh… uh… I-I can't," he rubs the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. He… He would kill me if I did that." You wince at the second realization that it's not gonna be easy getting out of here. You sigh and slump down into the corner of the glass container, rubbing your face.

"It's okay! He's not as bad as he seems once you get to know him. You might like him! Eventually…!" He gives you a little smile. "What's your name?"

"(Y/n)." You hesitate a moment. "You're less scary than him. Thanks for being… nicer."

He grins again. "What are you talking about? I'm very intimidating! I'm way taller than you." He stands up to his normal height, his shadow falling over you. A shiver runs down your spine.

"Okay, okay! You're scary too!" You giggle nervously, and he laughs.

"It's alright (Y/n), I promise nobody's gonna hurt you, not on my watch." As if on cue, Schlatt stirs from the bed, making Quackity cringe as he sits up.

"Quackity? You better not be touching the little thing in the glass that I found. I'll kick your ass." Schlatt grumbles and yawns. You try to make yourself smaller in the little corner you've claimed as he gets up, stretching even taller as he approaches Quackity and the glass container.

"No, I haven't touched her."

"Good. Don't. It's mine."

"Where did she come from?"

Schlatt is fully awake once he asks that question, grinning. "Well, apparently our little visitor here came straight from L'manburg! Isn't that cute?" He sneers in your direction.

Quackity's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what? You're from L'manburg?!" You saw his pity again. "You didn't tell me that."

You cringe. "It… It didn't come up-"

"Oh! You two've been talking! What did it tell you, Big Q?" When Schlatt looks at you, all you see is malice.

"Just… her name… and what she is…?" He fidgets nervously.

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

"Please don't-"

"Ah ah ah! Shush! Go ahead, Quackity!"

Quackity gives you an apologetic look. "Her name is (Y/n). She's a borrower." With that, Schlatt's face lights up like a Christmas tree, and he starts laughing maniacally.

"So…! You lied to me, huh?" He catches his breath after laughing. "I didn't even care much for your name, but what the fuck's a 'borrower' and how many of you little rats are around here?" He rests his weight on his hands, placed in front of you behind the glass. You start shaking again.

You push yourself away from him. "I didn't lie! I-I haven't seen anyone else around in years. I don't know. There's nobody else here or in L'manburg." You ramble, looking anywhere and everywhere but his face.

"Schlatt, c'mon man, you're scaring her." Quackity tries to push him back, but Schlatt slaps his hand away. Your eyes widen- that much force on you would kill you instantly, but it was practically nothing to them.

"Don't touch me. What I do with her is none of your business. I found her."

"Yes it is! I'm not gonna let you hurt her when she can't do anything to you!" Quackity yells back, taking Schlatt by surprise.

"She's from L'manburg! She could easily be Wilbur's little bitch sent here to get information!" Who's Wilbur?

"She doesn't know anybody. She's innocent, just leave her alone, man!"

"Fine." Schlatt steps over to your glass container, and opens the top. His hand reaches in and fills up your entire field of vision. You squeak in fear and push yourself back into your corner.

Since you made it hard for him, Schlatt has to pick you up between his thumb and index finger, on your stomach and back respectively. You squirm at first, but you grab on tight as your stomach drops when he lifts you up and out of the container. "No no no! Please!"

"If you want to protect her, then here, catch." Within a second, you're flying through the air, screaming your lungs out. You gasp when you land on your back onto a warm, plushy surface, frozen in shock, mouth agape.

"Schlatt what the fuck! You can't just do that to her, she's tiny!"

"Too late. She's your problem now, anyways."

Quackity protectively holds you close to his chest, shielding you as Schlatt walks by him and down the stairs. "If you let her run free to Wilbur I'm gonna hunt her down!" You both hear the front door slam shut.

[writingbakery]

“home is wherever i’m with you”

i was missing my panther baby, so i wrote out a quick little drabble set in the “what’s new, pussycat?” universe ! in this, you & hitoshi are married, & live farther out in the forest now rather than in the shop 💗 i hope you enjoy my loves ! expect more from this series soon 💗 [taglist; @katsukisprincess @secondhand-trash @redbeanteax @lady-bakuhoe @keigos-dove @antigenius @heroheads @yuueimagines @jojosmilktea @writing-in-monotone ]

[pairing; gn! witch reader x panther familiar! hitoshi shinso]

[warnings; fluff, romance, domesticity, even more fluff]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you like to take the long way home on sunday’s.

the market opens early on spring sundays, tables and chairs rising with the sun. under the morning dew, dozens of booths come to life in the crisp air, familiar faces amongst the handmade creations.

you do well on sundays, sell wellness draughts & charmed necklaces & always have a smile to offer to every neighbor. the people of your little town are overwhelmingly friendly now, tossing in a kind word or a hint of friendly gossip as they make their purchases, a pinch or two at your rosy cheeks between every warm smile. you can thank your familiar for that; shinso’s presence over the last few months had endeared your neighbors to you, erased any cruel misconceptions they’d held on to.

when you’re feeling poetic, you like to say that you don’t choose the long way home; instead, the well worn path calls you, whispers amongst the growing leaves & draws you in closer. shinso always laughs at that, eyes crinkled up fond at your flowery ideas - “you must have a little nature fairy in you then, mixed in with the witchiness,” — but he always allows you that small comfort of a longer walk home despite his protectiveness, quiet & peaceful.

you suppose that shinso’s quiet acceptance of all your little quirks and oddities is why you love him so, a reason out of many. you never have to shy away from yourself with hitoshi, can open yourself up all the way to the heart and let him reside right next to it.

the forest is calm so late in the afternoon, warm and inviting despite the lingering chill and you’re glad you chose it this particular sunday. winter’s icy beauty is slipping from the soil by the day, inching off the branches of the trees and kissing their pretty, rich green leaves. sprouts and weeds bloom under your feet, crafting sweet spring melodies with the chirping birds overhead and the singing brooks along the path.

the sunlight filters through the lively forest, little halos of light decorating certain spots on your walk. you like to think each halo illuminates something special, something previously unknown yet desperate to be. you always pause at each one, sift through the vegetation with the tip of your boot to see what lies beneath; you’ve found countless little odds and ends that way, pretty stones and lost trinkets. today, it’s a smooth, grey-blue pebble, a perfect circle in the middle of your palm. you decide to bring it home to hitoshi, knowing the panther will tuck it away reverently, use it whenever he needs to unwind. your lover had a particular fondness for things that were perfectly round, perfectly smooth, turning them over and over in his hands as he thought - you found it endlessly endearing.

the thought of your lover waiting at home hurried your steps, a smile on your lips as you quickly made your way along the path; it always happens this way, only able to walk half of it leisurely. you always got too excited for what lay at the end of it, always wanted to arrive faster than you’d departed.

where the brook ended, so did the path, widening out to a clearing; there stood your home, a brick and mortar reflection of your heart. the windows were fogged around the edges and draped with fresh vines, the door bearing a beautiful pink and green bouquet. hitoshi had complained the entire time you’d both decorated - “we live in the middle of the forest, darling, who in the fuck is going to see all this?” - but even he had to admit it was lovely. it brought a certain sense of belonging to your little home, made it a little more yours.

you pushed open the door carefully, locking up before discarding your coat and scarf - hitoshi always bundled you up excessively before you left the house, scowling over how lax you were with keeping warm. he always ended his little rants with a kiss to your nose, however, so you more than tolerated them. the house was quiet, save for the indignant meows of your pets and an all too recognizable snore. you stepped through the foyer to the living room to take in your favorite sight; hitoshi, fast asleep amongst the pillows of the couch, both cats draped over his sleeping form. from the book over his chest and the full pot in the kitchen, it was clear he’d been enjoying some relaxing as he started dinner, waiting for you to come home. it made you smile, the thought of your husband shuffling about your kitchen with his glasses sliding halfway down his nose, scolding the cats for begging but slipping them treats anyways.

[they appealed to his feline heart, though he’d never admit it, and you had to admit it was precious. once a panther, always a panther.]

you stepped into the kitchen to check the stew, stirring it carefully and lowering the flame. it had another hour or so to cook, and you didn’t mind at all, tossing in a few spices and herbs. it was routine in your house, at this point; one of you starting a task, the other finishing it. you were particularly fond of it, thought of it as both of you adding a bit of yourselves to everything you did. hitoshi always folded your robes, and you hung up his sweaters; hitoshi was good at chopping and dicing for stew, and you added the flavor.

you carefully set out two bowls of fish and rice for your cats, scratching behind both sets of ears with a fond coo. “took care of him for me while i was gone, did you? thank you,” you praised quietly, before returning to your husband in the living room. you set aside his glasses and book, making sure to mark his page, before curling up into his chest, draping a blanket over the both of you. hitoshi started sleepily, one arm reaching up almost on instinct to pull you closer.

“didn’t know you were home,” he slurred with a yawn, rubbing at his eyes and making to sit up. you carefully pushed him back down, chuckling softly underneath your breath as you gave hitoshi a soft kiss hello. “stay down, sleeping beauty. i’m home.”

as he happily obliged, arms wrapped tight around your waist as he began rambling on about his day, you couldn’t help but smile a little wider, pressing your cheek to his chest as you listened.

yes indeed, you thought to yourself, warmth seeping into your bones. you were home.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[jenovahh]

Wild Greens Choke Tended Gardens -  Ch. 1 - Calendula (Marigold)

“A’yana!”

Blue eyes twinkle, searching for whoever wanted their attention.

The woman they belong to turns in a rush, her plentiful skirts swaying with the movement.

A’yana Salvia smiled warmly as the Leveilleur twins ran up to her, Alisaie nearly crashing into the older woman. A’yana bubbles with laughter as she slows the girl’s momentum in her arms, encasing her in an affectionate hug. “Well, that’s quite the greeting. Are you more eager than I to be out in the field?”

At first glance, anyone would wonder whether A’yana was trying to be as provocative as possible while somehow maintaining her modesty. Her skirts reached well to the ground, covering her sandaled feet, layered with a string of potions in case of emergency along with decorative feathers and trinkets. Her top was more scandalous, nothing but strips of fabric, artfully bound together to show her cleavage while maintaining her decency.

Her skin was a deep amber, so rich and brown that she seemed to glow whenever she stepped into the sunlight. White tattoos trailed down her arms and back twirling and curving in intricate patterns. With two, large, fluffy ears poking from curly, amethyst hair, A’yana looked like any other Miqo’te, but many underestimated her power.

Stolen from her crib at birth, A’yana has only ever known the teachings of a village of women, much like her. A village of witches, masters of the arcane and magic so old and powerful that they hid themselves in the bowels of the Gridanian forest. It was these witches that had sensed A’yana was born, erasing her existence from her parents’ mind and disappearing into the night to raise her.

The tattoos on her skin had been there since her birth, heralding her as a manifestation of the trees, the leaves, of life itself. Blessed by the spirits and Hydaelyn Herself, she was both respected and feared. Respected for using her powers for good, feared for the possibility she could turn on them and no one alive could stop her.

She had been more than helpful to the cause, even if her tendency to dive into things head first without thinking had landed her in trouble more often than not. Despite that she had made more friends than enemies, and what enemies she had knew she was a force to be reckoned with.

The young Elezen finally peels off of her, giving an exasperated groan. “I cannot deny I am a tad...antsy,”

“Is that what we call it?” Alphinaud can’t help but tease, flinching slightly as Alisaie turns to shoot him a quick glare.

“Now, now, be nice you two.” A’yana giggles, rubbing her head affectionately against the top of Alisaie’s head. “Goodness. I know it will be a few years yet, but I loathe to think of a time where I cannot nuzzle the tops of your snowy heads.” With a mischievous grin of her own, A’yana gives Alisaie a light nudge. “Or when you running headlong into me won’t result in you colliding with my bosom.” she sighs dramatically, breaking out into a full laugh as both twins go red in the face for different reasons.

“We’ll see how you like being teased when I am taller than you! Shall I play with your ears?” Alisaie huffs, clearly embarrassed. It was one thing for her twin to poke fun at her, but to have the woman she had come to view as the older sister she never had never failed to leave her flustered.

“Come now, I jest.” A’yana chuckles giving one last pat on her head. “Surely you did not run because you were excited to see me. Is there news?” A’yana asks, threading her hand with Alisaie’s as they walked through Rhalgr’s Reach. She offers her hand to Alphinaud who sputters for a moment but quietly accepts it, ears reddening as she flashes him a comforting smile.

While A’yana was aware that many would say that the twins were too old for such coddling, she could not help herself. Having no real siblings of her own, A’yana doted on them constantly, always asking if they were hungry, or needed a potion of hers for even something as small as a stomach ache. There was no hiding even outside the Scions that she spoiled them, and despite their best efforts to hide it, they loved every second of her attention.

“Well, on the grounds that you’ve finished your tasks of speaking with the recruits and such for Conrad,” Alphinaud begins, giving an encouraging smile, “he is actually ready to speak with us.”

“Ah, I would hope so after all the running around we’ve had to do.” A’yana sighs, to which even Alphinaud can’t help but laugh.

“While I’m aware that speaking with the masses is not as thrilling as fighting gods, I appreciate you going along with it nonetheless.” Alphinaud thanks, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Only because I have you two kids to look out for.” A’yana snickers, giving Alphinaud’s hair a ruffle, much to his dismay, the teenager leaping away from her teasing. “I’ll meet you over at the tent. Pray tell Conrad I’ll be there shortly.” Watching him nod, her eyes follow him as he walks the path back to the tent where M’naago and Conrad await them. Turning to Alisaie, she gives her hand a squeeze. “And you?”

Shrugging, Alisaie returns her gesture. “I think I will go check up on Y’shtola and Krile, and see how they are faring. I would end up saying the wrong thing I fear if I went with my brother.” Tilting her head, Alisaie gives her a scrutinous look. “Though you seem noticeably...excited today. Is all well?”

A’yana is not surprised, given how much time she spends in the twins' presence. Of course they would pick up on even the smallest cues on her moods. “Well...I’m not particularly familiar with how Elezen find their soulmates,”

Alisaie’s eyes widen before she can even finish the sentence, mouth flying open, “You mean your soulmate is---hrrmph!” she mumbles as A’yana slaps a hand over her mouth, pulling the young girl into what looks like a friendly embrace from afar.

“Quiet!” A’yana hisses, though it lacks any real bite. Alisaie licks at her palm and A’yana takes it off reflexively, releasing Alisaie with a pout.

“Why be quiet? This should be something to celebrate!” Alisaie whispers, at least being considerate to her feelings and keeping her voice down.

“I know, I know, but we’re in the middle of a full blown war, Alisaie. I want to be able to...you know. Have a chance to be courted without fear of some primal coming down on our heads.” A’yana mumbles, somewhat bashfully. For as strong as A’yana was, she was unfortunately (at least to her) a hopeless romantic.

“Oh, you big sap.” Trust her little sister to make fun of her for it. “Well how can you tell? I heard most Miqo’te born in Ul’Dah find theirs by being able to see color when they meet. Does that mean you can’t tell Alphinaud and I dress in different colors? If we swapped clothes--”

“I can see plenty well, thank you.” A’yana grumbles, giving her a playful smack on the head. “If you don’t mind, I’ve kept your brother waiting long enough. Off you go.” A’yana shoos, complete with a limp wristed wave of her hand. Alisaie sticks her tongue out at her, and A’yana is glad to see it. They should enjoy what years of childhood they had left, even if they were teenagers.

Trekking to the tent across the way, she offers a few more cordial waves as she passes by the soldiers stationed in the reach, her tranquil aura a soothing balm to all as she passes by. As she goes to meet with the others, she can’t help but daydream what her soulmate could possibly look like.

Are they tall? Short? Would they be a refined, Ishgardian, Elezen man or a brusque, Highlander woman? Would they be a match made in heaven from the start, or would they have to learn to love each other despite their faults? Though she has waited for her soulmate like anyone else, A’yana still experienced attraction. She knew she liked women, liked men, like those who did not conform to either. She wanted to love her soulmate no matter how they presented themself, and prayed they thought the same for her.

She always imagined her soulmate would be tall, someone who would want to protect her even if she did not need it. Someone who made her feel like an average woman despite her trekking across Eorzea as the Warrior of Light. She hoped they liked her cooking. The Scions all think it’s too spicy, except for Tataru, bless her heart.

A’yana envied other races and cultures that had more certain ways of knowing for sure when or where they’d meet their soulmate. Finding your soulmate varied from methods as vague as sharing your soulmate’s hair color, to as specific as having a specially crafted chronometer that would countdown to the time you would meet.

A’yana got stuck with the vague end of the spectrum, only able to sense when her soulmate drew near.

She had thought it wanderlust at first; a desire to leave her village behind once she had hit the appropriate age to do so. It was to her surprise that she would be discovered to be the Warrior of Light, beginning her trek across Eorzea to save it from certain doom. She had gravitated to Gridania immediately, feeling a strange tingling in her chest that would always call her back.

It is only after they crossed Baelsar’s wall had she realized that was no normal feeling.

She kept it to herself for a while, but with each passing day as she worked to bolster the Ala Mhigan resistance with Raubahn and Pipin, she could feel her soulmate drawing closer. She knew they were close, just not how close. Oh, how the wait was killing her.

One look at Y’shtola and Krile tells A’yana that as usual, Alisaie can’t keep her mouth shut. The two give her knowing, but hopeful looks. Alphinaud asks ever so politely on whether she is willing to try and storm the Castellum with Pipin, because she’s already done so much for the cause and he’d rather not presume. Ruffling his hair again, A’yana laughs that while she appreciates it, he needn’t ask. If there is a just cause to fight for, she will be there.

While this cause is just as bloody as the Dragonsong War so far, A’yana feels no less afraid to see it through. She does not enjoy killing, abhors it really, and will do what she can to spare a life, even those of an enemy unless they force her hand. Thankfully with her powers, restraining the enemy is not hard work, allowing for the capture of soldiers with minimal bloodshed.

It is better than sitting around running her apothecary, waiting for customers to stop by.

Fighting primals is much more exciting.

There are no eikons to slay yet though, Gyr Abania proving strangely tame compared to the struggles she endured during her time in Coerthas fighting the Heavensward led by Thordan. Where there was once the threat of dragons around every corner, able to fly and raze her to the ground if she let them, the only risk so far is an imperial ambush, which when next to her, was hardly a threat at all.

A’yana knew she was powerful and she tried to not let it get to her head.

Tried.

The trek back to Castrum Oriens is quiet and peaceful, the imperials most likely quaking in their boots from their last defeat by her hand. To the average person she appeared to be no more than a healer, thinking her an easy target as she balanced her astrolabe above her palm. And with skirts restricting her movement, many would think she would be incapable of hand to hand combat.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t dodge, though.

Bolstered by her own abilities, her offensive spells even as she healed were more than enough to weaken an enemy and render them unable to even lift a blade against her. And even if someone did manage to get close enough, she had worked hard to master the art of dodging a sword while in her skirts, having a few scars from some close calls.

A’yana makes conversation with M’naago until they reach the Castrum, where Raubahn and Pipin each give her a friendly welcome before getting down to business. A’yana’s attention drifts in and out of the conversation, ears flicking to and fro the only indication whether she’s actively listening or not. Thankfully M’naago is the only other Miqo’te present to recognize the behavior for what it is, and seems confident in her abilities to not comment on it. One doesn’t necessarily need the full scope of the plan when your friends usually chuck you at a primal.

Besides, she can’t help it; she feels her soulmate drifting ever closer. Could they be an Ala Mhigan? She’s never felt the buzz so strongly before, even when she had first noticed the feeling when she became an adult. If her soul mate was Ala Mhigan, she would’ve felt them this close years ago...right?

“You seem on edge.” Alisaie comments again, as they prepare to meet Pipin outside Castellum Velodnya. “Is your soulmate getting closer?”

Unable to hide her grin, A’yana nods, not wanting to burst with excitement when such a serious mission looms ahead. If scoping out the Castellum went well, perhaps she could spend the night searching for her soulmate. Surely if they are this close, they must be searching for her too? “Right now, I just wanna focus on our mission,” A’yana sighs, flexing her fingers anxiously. “I have yet to consult the stars about tonight...I’ve never consulted them about my soulmate actually. I’ve always wanted it to be a surprise.”

Alisaie gives her a teasing look at that. “Who would’ve thought the Warrior of Light would be such a huge romantic?” She sighs, complete with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“Oh, be quiet you.” A’yana laughs, giving Alisaie a scathing look. “Don’t think I’ve not noticed you fiddling with that locket you think you keep tucked away. I believe Sharlayans often find their soulmates by a personal trinket that glows when their soulmate is near, right?”

A’yana can’t help but laugh louder as Alisaie turns as red as her gear, going on about how A’yana must’ve been spying on her. It takes Alphinaud calming both of them down (but not without getting in a few jokes of his own) to say they’re ready to head toward the Castellum.

Making sure her cards are ready and her astrolabe functional, A’yana begins to ease into her more serious persona. A’yana didn’t want to put up false pretenses when it came to her role as the Warrior of Light, but found that people took her seriously the sterner she looked. Around the Scions she didn’t mind joking and laughing, showing a side that precious few got to see. But when it came time to do battle, you would think she had not smiled in days.

With her feline hearing and the twins own sensitivity to sound due to their Elezen heritage combined, it’s nigh impossible for anyone to sneak up on them. A’yana follows close behind Pipin and the twins, careful to make sure her skirts don’t get snagged in the brush as they make their way through the forest and out to the more desert-like terrain. A’yana can’t help but be a little nervous as they creep closer to the cliffs’ edge, taking extra steps so that tripping on her skirts doesn’t spell in a long fall into the chasm below.

Winds tickle her skin, the buzzing in her chest almost turning into a light hum. It makes it hard to focus.

“...is exactly as expected. I will notify father.” Pipin’s voice drifts into her ears.

Alphinaud puts a hand on her arm, eyes silently asking if she’s all right. Thankful for his concern, A’yana nods, doing her best to push the humming feeling to the back of her mind. Whenever she did meet her soulmate, she was going to tell them they had awful timing.

“...fire! Where did it come from?” Pipin whispers harshly, turning this way and that. Panicked and feeling stupid for not paying attention, A’yana jumps to her feet, scanning the area for cannonfire she didn’t even hear. The humming is hard to push from her mind.

“Is that---” Alisaie’s voice drifts in and out as A’yana finally manages to turn to where Alisaie is facing. “Oh gods, it’s Rhalgr’s Reach!”

Doing her damndest to focus, A’yana gathers up her skirts and begins to move, before either of the twins or Pipin can say anything. “A’yana, it’s no use-- I think someone’s jamming our communications!” Alphinaud yells. Thankfully the pair are used to A’yana’s tendency to run head first into danger without thinking, quick on her heels.

“You don’t think...could this be part of a coordinated attack?” Alisaie ponders, the two of them heading North so they can cross the river and make it back as fast as possible.

Having caught up, Pipin chimes in, “It’s too early to draw conclusions. We must abort the assault and return to the Reach at once!”

Not that that wasn’t her plan anyway, A’yana trudges through the river, silently cursing that she is at such a disadvantage. Her abilities relied so strongly on a presence of plant life; and in the arid climate that Gyr Abania had, she immediately felt the loss. Whatever it was waiting for her at the Reach, they better hope--

The humming--

It almost feels like a full blown thrumming now.

She’s getting closer to Rhalgr’s which means…

Which means...!

“We have to hurry!” She cries, ignoring the discomfort of soggy sandals and damp skirts as she pulls herself from the river, continuing her run to Rhalgr’s Reach.

My soulmate...are they there? Are they hurt? She wonders, trying her best to not despair, but she can’t help but worry. Not when with every step she takes the thrumming gets more insistent until it is all she can feel, her very being feeling as if it knows her soulmate is near. She can hear the twins hurried breaths behind her, her feline eyes easily pick up on a few approaching forms in the distance.

“Krile!” A’yana calls, willing her feet to move faster. The Lalafellin woman’s eyes are downcast, only glancing up at the sound of her name being called. Her grim look only pushes A’yana forward, not even stopping to talk and hear what she has to say.

“Alisaie! Go after A’yana!” She hears Alphinaud call, as he and Pipin stay behind for a moment to talk to Krile. Alisaie is hot on her tail without even needing to be told, keeping stride with the older woman as they prepare to throw themselves into the fray.

“We have to save as many as possible!” Alisaie calls, drawing her rapier, having it at the ready. “Heal who you can. I will watch your back until the others arrive!”

Proud of her sister for thinking so fast on her feet, for knowing what she wants without even having to voice it, A’yana pulls her astrolabe from her back, the cards fanning around the globe in a flourish. Imperials meet them at the gate, A’yana able to feel the stars giving her strength as she pulls a Lady of Crowns from her globe. Channeling the energy to Alisaie, she watches as the young woman’s eyes light up, letting loose her battle cry as she takes the imperials on.

She fights off one imperial, making quick work of them and gets to calling upon her magic to cast a quick healing spell on a nearby recruit. Thankful that they’ve only sustained flesh wounds that won’t drain their life force, A’yana begins to put more of her focus into getting them a bit healthier. Only a few minutes pass before she can hear Krile and the others catch up. “Go on ahead!” Krile demands, already heading for the next of the wounded. “They need your help!”

Nodding, A’yana once again balances her astrolabe in her hand, having palmed a few cards to keep at the ready as she takes stock of who will be moving with her. Her heart is pounding; her soulmate is close, and she prays that because she still feels this thrumming, it also means they’re still alive.

“Y’shtola!” Alphinaud cries, seeing the Miqo’te woman on the ground. A’yana’s own heart stops as she spies Lyse tied up on the ground next to the unconscious woman.

“Not so fast!”

A’yana barely dodges a swipe of a blade, her skirts dancing around her as she quickly casts a Malefic at the offending enemy. More of the Skulls begin to surround her, snickering to themselves, thinking they have her cornered. Though there may be little plant life around, she knows she won’t even have to waste a fraction of her energy taking down a few mercenaries. A’yana’s eyes narrow as a young woman, hardly older than nineteen summers comes to the front, smirking as if victory is assured.

“Well, well. A rescue party, is it?” The woman grins, twirling her blade. “We’ll see about that!”

At the first step she makes A’yana easily dodges her, balancing her astrolabe in one hand while taking hold of her skirts in the other. Her pupils dilate, letting in more light on this already dark and tragic night. She dodges another swipe and hears the woman growl in frustration, making another blind charge at her. A’yana evades her once again, losing herself to the pull of combat, the humming of her soulmate’s proximity forgotten as she manages to put enough distance between her and the newcomer to cast a Malefic that sends her stumbling.

“Gah! Who in the seven hells are you?!” She snarls, her grip on her sword tightening.

“I would ask the same of you, but I remember you now...Fordola rem Lupis.” A’yana murmurs, twirling her astrolabe in hand. She’s fully dipped into the role of the Warrior now, eyes hard as steel, unforgiving in their gaze as she stares down the cause of this tragedy. “I unfortunately lack the means to restrain you properly...which prompts me to request you stand down. I rather there be no more bloodshed, even from the enemy.”

A’yana keeps her focus on Fordola, ensuring she makes no sudden movements as Alphinaud takes out one of the soldiers. “Alphinaud! I need your help!” Krile beckons, falling to her knees as she sets about healing Y’shtola and the other fallen soldiers.

Fordola makes to move toward them but A’yana is faster, casting a Malefic with just enough power to weaken her further and deter her from any foolish moves. Fordola grits her teeth, eyes burning hotly as she stares her down. “My lord, the prisoners!” She calls.

My lord? A’yana wonders, until she hears the shift of heavy armor, and the awareness of the humming returns tenfold.

“See to your men, Pilus.”

Fordola draws her sword, turning to the sound, giving the Garlean salute to whoever comes this way. Following her gaze, A’yana takes one look.

And she knows.

The armor is obviously fitting of not just a high ranking officer, but royalty. She can see strands of golden, blond hair trail from beneath the monsterish helm. She had heard stories and rumors, intel about the Garlean prince, but nothing could have prepared her for how intense his presence was--

Or the fact that he was her soulmate.

It can’t be, A’yana trembles, even as her soul sings at being so close to her soulmate. She can feel all the signs of love she had envied for so long. Her knees are weak, her heart’s beating out of time. She only has eyes for the twisted creature before her, the Prince of Garleans…

Zenos yae Galvus.

“Uh-- as you command, my lord.” Fordola stutters, rounding up what remaining soldiers she has and retreating as ordered.

A’yana is stock still even as Pipin comes up beside her, her throat locked up. She wants to say so much, but her mouth will not open. Her tongue is dry.

It can’t be.

Zenos turns to her, mood indiscernible from beneath his helm. One arm rests upon the odd sheathe that is fastened to his hip, carrying a familiar sort of confidence she recognizes in herself. A surety in your power.

The knowledge of your greatness.

“Your friends were a disappointment. But you…” The prince drawls, tilting his head slightly. “You will entertain me, will you not?”

A’yana can’t even swallow as he moves to face her, drawing a sword from his revolver.

It can’t be.

Alisaie brings up the rear at last as A’yana’s instinct is screaming at her to run away. To tell her friends to run for cover while she holds him off. But it is too late. The stage is already set.

“If we kill him, here and now, we can end this!” Alisaie roars, already launching herself at Zenos.

“As one!” Pipin cries, joining Alisaie in her attack.

“Wait-- no!” A’yana yells, finally finding her voice. Habit finally kicks in, fear an undercurrent to her movements as she begins to draw cards, ready to aid her friends where possible. He’s...powerful. I’ve never felt such strength…!

A’yana watches panicked as Zenos fights them off, expending little effort. It almost feels like looking in a mirror, watching the ease at which he dispatches her friends.

Is this what she looked like to everyone else?

“I have no need for this rabble.” Zenos sighs, unleashing an attack that sends the two flying.

“Alisaie! Pipin!” A’yana calls, having barely withstood the attack herself. Was that...magic? The prince is a full blooded Garlean-- how? Quickly glancing, she hears Pipin mumble something over the roaring in her ears as Alisaie lets loose a slew of curses, allowing her to take a breather. They’re both alive, thank the Twelve.

“Hm. You yet stand.” Zenos hums, once again drawing A’yana’s attention as well as her ire. At least now with her friends out of the fight she has to worry about no one save herself. “Mayhap you have potential.”

“Oh, I have more than potential,” A’yana hisses, beginning to draw cards. She can hear him chuckle, even from under the helm, illusionary swords appearing around her. Growling, she makes quick work of dodging their blasts while keeping her eyes focused on him.

Her soulmate.

Her eyes burn with unshed tears at how unfair this was.

For every blast she dodges, he’s quick on his feet, chasing her, hunting her, leaving her little room to even begin to cast. She’s unaccustomed to being on the run and she feels like he can sense it, can see how wide her eyes are from being on the losing side for once. She can hear the smirk from under his helm. “Better. Yet lacking nevertheless…”

Incensed, A’yana dodges his swords once again, edging herself near the water. It will take a good chunk of her energy, but if it means wiping that smirk off his face even if she can’t see it, she’ll do what it takes.

She watches him still for but a moment as her tattoos faintly glow, the water gurgling behind her. Balancing her astrolabe, she casts a Malefic with the intention of distracting him, grinning as he moves to dodge her magic. “I’ve got you!” she roars, veins shooting from the depths of the small river, launching themselves directly at Zenos.

He easily slashes at one set, but was clearly not expecting another set of vines to come up behind him, latching onto his sword arm. Regaining her confidence, A’yana cinches the vines as tight as she can around his wrist, frowning as the pressure does nothing to his armor. As a prince it would make sense he is only afforded the highest quality metal available.

Changing tactics she tries to wrench his hand behind him, but he’s far too strong for her vines to pull without snapping. She could strengthen them with magic, but she’s already using so much already since she is not touching any plants physically and relying on her own energy. She doesn’t want to use her reserves; what if she needs to make a run for it?

Would her own soulmate kill her?

Could he not tell they were soulmates?

Was she broken?

Her choice is taken away from her as Zenos gives a decisive slice of his blade through the vines, humming to himself. “An ability to control plant matter...though not without great cost to yourself.” While his tone hints that he’s somewhat intrigued, it still maintains a bit of boredom. “Come then.”

Before she can react he dashes for her, blade drawn. A’yana winces as she’s barely able to dodge in time, crying out at her blade cuts a decent gash in her side. Down, but not out, A’yana taps into her reserves by clasping his sword, using a burst of magic to snap the blade in half. As he withdraws, she falls to the ground, whimpering as she casts a small healing spell to at least stop the bleeding.

She feels him gaze down at her, feels his disdain and disappointment. Her heart still burns at his closeness, even as he draws another sword from his revolver. She glares up at him then, resolve burning bright in her eyes, even as she kneels before him. Instinct claws its way up to where she bares her fangs, her eyes become slits, and somehow that gives him pause.

All is silent save for the rolling of thunder.

“Pathetic.” He sighs, sheathing his sword once again and stalking away. A’yana watches him go, watches Fordola and her men follow behind him.

“A’yana!” Alisaie is at her side in an instant, trying to put on her best brave face. “We need to get you seen to,”

“I’m fine, Alisaie, I’ve slowed the bleeding.” Normally she’d have more than enough energy to stop it entirely. But not this time.

Not after being defeated so wholly.

A’yana was no prodigy; she had to work to her level of skill like anyone else. She was only bolstered by the fact she was a wellspring of power, and had a natural aptitude for magic and the arcane. She had long faded scars to show she trained like anyone else.

Only now, had her luck run out.

She was used to coasting on her talent, her hard work. That wasn't to say any of her battles up until this point had been easy, oh no-- taking down Nidhogg had been an arduous battle from start to finish. Even with van Baelsar she had been younger, greener, mostly sailing by on sheer adrenaline and pure luck. Overwhelming her enemies with how much raw, untamed power she held.

And now...she feels embarrassed. The infallible, unshakable Warrior of Light…

Thrown around like a doll by the prince of Garleans.

Even still, nothing made her more ashamed than the fact that he was her soulmate.

She couldn’t understand it. Comprehend it. She couldn’t deny she felt a little impatient. Not all races met their soulmates when they were young, but it was not unheard of for some soulmates to find one another even before their teenage years. She could not help the doubts that plagued her that by nearly twenty-five summers, she hadn’t felt as much of a tug. Something had to be wrong with her.

It is why she could not contain her excitement when after so long, she felt something.

It is why her heart is so heavy as Alphinaud and Krile rush over to her to help heal her enough to move.

Raubahn arrives soon after, devastated as he looks upon the Reach. He scoops her up effortlessly, balancing her in one arm as he rushes her to the infirmary, only adding to her shame.

“You’ve done well.” Raubahn assures her, hushed words only for the two of them to hear. Even though it is only for her ears, she can’t help but beat herself up for failing everyone so horribly.

She can’t tell anyone.

What would the others think of her, knowing that when they needed her most, she couldn’t fight her soulmate? That her soulmate was the very person they are aiming to defeat?

Even as she lies in bed and the chirugeons tend to her, Krile and Alphinaud having exhausted their energy just to save Y’shtola, she stares the ceiling and wonders--

What will she do?

She can’t kill her soulmate.

She already abhorred the thought of killing, but she could sense he was not a man who would allow himself to be captured. He would accept nothing less than total defeat.

Night falls over the Reach and she lies wide awake, thoughts bouncing off the walls like a child who has had too much toffee. She is restless at the same time she is tired, wanting action, wanting to do anything, wanting to prove herself--

“...Yana?”

A’yana gasps, heart nearly leaping up her throat as Alisaie’s head peeks through the privacy curtain around her bed. “Alisaie. I’m sorry. I was...lost in thought.” She moves to sit up but her gash is still healing. She’s yet to recover the strength needed to heal her wounds further, and her strongest potions were given to help Y’shtola and many others instead.

“You’re not overthinking your battle are you?” Alisaie questions, quietly reaching for a small stool to sit at her side. A’yana guiltily looks away, prompting the young girl to frown. “Yana,” Alisaie begins and A’yana can’t help but sigh. Alisaie only dropped her prefix when she was ready to chew her out.

“At least think about it from my perspective, Alisaie,” A’yana breathes, unable to even roll over and face her. “I’ve...never experienced a defeat such as that. In a way I suppose I am humbled, but I...I was also scared.”

They are both silent, Alisaie seeming to mull over her words. “Your soulmate…” Alisaie begins, causing A’yana to tense immediately. Thankfully it is still too dark to catch such minute movements. “Were they...did you sense them? Was it distracting you? They’re not…”

“No, they’re not dead.” A’yana cuts off, slinging an arm over her eyes, not wanting to show Alisaie her tears. She had to be strong for her. She had to be unshakable, an inspiration--

“Then where are they?” Alisaie presses, unable to see how A’yana’s fist clenches, how as much as she doesn’t want to, tears fall from her tired eyes.

“They’re not here. They left.” She lies. “I’m guessing they saw the explosions, heard the cannon fire from Rhalgr’s. And...I suppose that they don’t have a way to sense I’m near.” A’yana curses as she begins to sniffle, as sobs begin to wrack her body. She would never show this chip in her armor to anyone else.

“Yana…” Alisaie murmurs, reaching to hug her as best as she can with A’yana still lying down. The Miqo’te takes it, needing the comfort. She’s not surprised that Alisaie lets her think that she’s this immovable force, that she is not without flaws and fears. She knew Alisaie did not think any less of her for having weak points like anyone else.

But in her mind, nothing could make up for the fact that her soulmate was the enemy they were trying to defeat, and she just may not have the power to stop him.